Cuffed
by streco
Summary: Mark and Roger get handcuffed together,but they don't have a key. One only knows what will happen. The possibilities are endless. [MR FRIENDSHIP!NO romance!mentioned MimiRog and MoJo] FINISHED AT LONG LAST!
1. Oops

1_**CUFFED**_

_Roger and Mark get handcuffed together...but they don't have a key._

_Credit goes to __**Aw FUDGE-UMS**__. They posted a Maximum Ride story about where Max and Fang get handcuffed, I read it, and was inspired to write this._

_By the way, this __**WILL NOT**__ be a MarkRoger romance fic. (Sorry, I hate M/R romance. Icky) I was actually going to do Roger and Maureen, but then I realized that a) I had been writing it by accident Roger and Mark all a long, and b) Maureen would definitely be more likely to screw up a trick._

**1. ****Oops**

I woke up that morning with intentions of maybe having a cup of coffee, shooting down to the Life for a quick breakfast, and then maybe coming back and trying to write a song. Maybe help Mark with his film. I did _not _plan on Maureen coming and crashing my little day planner, like that means so much to me anyway.

But, yeah. I got to go through two of those actions before coming home to hell. I woke up and had some coffee, watching the sunrise a bit, then I walked down to the Life Café and had some pancakes with little M&M's in them. Walking back, I could hear squeals of joy coming from the open windows of the loft. Mark doesn't usually squeal, so I was a bit concerned.

Then I realized I forgot my key. Dammit. "Mark!" I called, cupping my hands over my mouth. "Mark, throw down the key!" It took a few minutes, minutes that included a lot of screaming on my part, but I'll spare you the details. Finally, Mark walked out onto the balcony and shot me a warning look before tossing the keys down to me. Knowing full well what I was getting myself into, I proceeded with caution into the building.

When I walked into the loft, Maureen clobbered me with a hug. I mean, sure, I like Maureen, Maureen's a great kid and she's my friend, but she's _really _annoying. Five minutes with her is enough time to drive me up a freaking wall. Groaning, I peeled her arms off of me. "As much as I love being suffocated, I think I'm going to go to my room and hang out there for a little bit, okay?"

I grabbed my guitar off the table and made a beeline for my bedroom, praying to get there before Maureen hatched some sort of "brilliant idea" that so desperately required my attendance. I was two feet away from my door when she cried out, "WAIT, ROGER!" and zipped over to where I had frozen. She grabbed my arm and towed me away from my paradise.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Mark had gotten a similar idea and had been creeping to the loft door while she was getting me. Still dragging me with her, she got hold on Mark and shoved both of us side-by-side on the couch, holding both hands behind her back. "I have a magic trick!" she announced, giggling and bouncing on her heels.

Both Mark and I moaned. Maureen had desperately tried to be a trickster when she was younger. When the three of us lived in Scarsdale she wanted to be a magician when she got older, but then we realized that she _sucked _and told her to go elsewhere with her life. Still to this day she attempts to be magical, but it never really works.

From behind her back she pulled out a pair of golden handcuffs. "The Magical Handcuff Trick!" she cried, squealing and grabbing my right arm and Mark's left. In an instant she had clamped them down and Mark and I were handcuffed together. _Oh, shit. _"Okay, hold on. In order for the MHT to work, we need a handkerchief or a napkin," she muttered, walking into the kitchen to search for one.

Mark and I sat in silence, both of us staring at the handcuffs around our wrists. Could I live my entire life being on Mark's left side? Another thing that would suck: I'm a rightie and he's a leftie. We wouldn't be able to write for the rest of our lives. And God knows I _need _to write songs!

For about ten minutes we just sat there as Maureen tore apart our kitchen. "Oh, my God, you guys don't have a napkin!" she cried, her eyes wide with fear. I felt my own self fill with terror. _Oh, my God, shit, we're gonna be stuck like this forever! She's not gonna use the key 'cause she hates us, or she'll lose it or something!_ Then, she giggled and said, "No, just kidding. I actually found one the moment I got in here, but I wanted to pull you guys' legs."

Heated and embarrassed at being afraid for no reason, I stood up—or tried to, rather—but Mark didn't have the same idea, so I ended up giving myself whiplash on my wrist. "Hey, calm down, Roger," she laughed, walking over and placing the napkin over our wrists. "All will be finished momentarily. I'm gonna need you guys to stand up and walk over here..." she guided us to a wide open part of the loft.

"Now, I'm going to say the magic words, and the two of you have to run at full speed in opposite directions for the trick to work, okay?" she told us, and Mark and I nodded. Now that I reflect on this, I wonder why I ever believed Maureen. Anyway, she counted to three, and Mark and I took off as fast as we could.

Bad move. The handcuffs didn't budge and we went flying backward and cracking our heads against each other. "Ahh!" we yelped, both of us falling to the floor and trying to clutch our skulls. Once again there was a problem; we could only use one hand because the other one was handcuffed. We struggled against control over our "third" hand.

"Maur_een_!" I shouted in frustration, rubbing the sore spot on my head. "Wasn't that supposed to _work? _Where are the keys? I wanna get the hell out of these things." Bringing the handcuffs up closer to my face, I examined them. They certainly didn't look like trick handcuffs to me...

Snapping my head in her direction, I saw the fear in her eyes and became outraged. _"Maureen..." _I warned, standing up and pulling Mark with me. "Maureen, where did you get these handcuffs?" I demanded, staring square into her eyes and forcing an answer out of her.

"Well, um," she shifted nervously in her still hyperactive voice, "these are the golden handcuffs that, um, Pookie got for winning this really justice-y case. I wasn't supposed to take them," she quickly added, "but they were _so SHINY!_" she giggled nervously and walked over to the phone. "Um, hold on, I'll call her."

Anger pulsed through my body like blood. _If Maureen just cuffed Mark and I together, I'm going to fucking kill her._ The phone rang a few times. "Hey, babe?" she asked into the phone. Joanne's voice made her heart beat fast. "Hey, um, remember those handcuffs you got that time? Just wondering if they were supposed to have keys with them. I saw them this morning and realized there wasn't a key and was worried that it may have been lost." _Ooh, nice lie. _"Oh, really? ... okay, love you too, bye, Pooks."

With fear inevitable in her eyes, she squeaked out, "Um, Pookie says there are no keys to them," and she turned around and left the loft as fast as I've ever seen her move. I heard her mumble one short thing before she left: "_Oops."_

"_MAUREEN!" _I screamed, running to the loft door, but Mark pulled me and I landed on my back like a discombobulated turtle. "I'm going to kill her!" I kicked and whined like a little kid, but I had the anger of a freaking gorilla. "LET GO! I'm going to kill her! Let me go!"

"I'm not holding on, Roger," Mark reminded me.

_Right. We're handcuffed together._

"Look, I want to kill Maureen too, but until we tell Joanne, we're gonna be stuck like this. She might not even be able to get keys. And we all know that handcuffs are virtually indestructable." With a fit of anger, he told the truth, "We might be stuck like this for a while."

Which meant forever.

Sucking in a quick breath, I realized exactly what that meant.

_Handcuffed to Mark... forever?_

_Oh shit._

_**A/N:**__ Just a quick question: I'm gonna ask this in all of my stories cuz I'm suddenly curious: are you a rightie or a leftie? I am a proud leftie. Studies actually show that lefties die ten to fifteen years earlier than righties do. Plus, EVERYTHING ON THE PLANET IS MADE FOR RIGHTIES. Like, my nephew Dominic has this little toy notepad thing. The pen is attached on the right side, and it's IMPOSSIBLE for me to use it because the pen doesn't reach all the way to the left side._

_MAKES ME MAD! Lol. But, seriously, rightie, leftie, ambidextrous? _

_I know it's short, but I wanted to get this out there so no one would copy it. I'll try to update fast._

_-STEPONME_


	2. Three Ring Circus

1**A/N:**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own RENT. I do own the plot. Actually, I don't. **AW Fudge-Ums **does. :D -worships- I am not worthy of Jonathan. _Or_** AW Fudge-Ums.**

**2.** **Three-Ring Circus**

"_Now _what do we do?" Roger screeched, trying to kick the coffee table. I pulled him back by my own side of the handcuffs. "Mark, what the hell are we supposed to do?"For a while, all he did was drag me across the loft, trying to destroy anything that looked like it was 'laughing at him.' No matter how much I tried to hold back, he was just too strong.

The phone rang and we screened the call. _"Speeeeeaaaaak." _

"Hey, Roger, Mark, it's Maureen. Um, hey, listen, about the handcuffs—I'm _really_, really sorry about that. Just...can you—like, can you not tell Joanne about this?" she asked quietly, obviously very worried that we'd rat her out. "Those handcuffs meant a lot to Joanne, and I don't want her to leave me." She sniffled, and by the tone of her voice, I could tell that she had been crying, and was crying now as well.

My gaze met with Roger's. He thought she was fibbing, but since I dated Maureen, I knew her _way _too well. Of course, I could tell when she was acting, no matter how good it was, but now she wasn't acting. She was seriously afraid. "I don't want her to leave me. Please, guys, don't tell her," she pleaded, "I promise, I'll find a way to get them off. Just, please, don't tell Joanne. If it gets to the point where we can't find a key anywhere, I'll tell her. Not yet though, okay? Please?"

Roger still didn't look convinced.

"I'm so sorry, guys. I'll be over later or tomorrow. Bye." She tried to hang up on the other end, but she fiddled with the phone for a while. _"Shit, Maureen, you screwed the fuck up." _She muttered in a teary voice, and then the phone went down on the hook and the message ended. Sighing, I looked at Roger, who had his left arm crossed over his chest.

"She's serious, Roger. She's really upset by this."

"Yeah? Well I'm upset by _this!_" he motioned to the handcuff on his right hand. "She didn't _have _to take the 'shiny golden handcuffs!' She _knew _they were Joanne's and that they were important to her, why did she take them? Look, Mark," he sighed deeply, "I love Maureen like a sister, really. The four of us—you, me, her and Collins—we've been friends for _how _long? I just think she messed up this time, and for once, we shouldn't have to have her back."

After much more huffing and puffing from Roger, the two of us walked over to the big metal table and tried to saw the cuffs off. Well, that freaking worked. In the end, we just had painful wrists and had tired ourselves out for absolutely no reason. Roger collapsed on the couch, making me go down with him. "Shit, Mark, I think I'm gonna get carpal tunnel."

I couldn't help but laugh at him. "_O_kay, Roger."

We sat there for a while, not having any clue as to what we were supposed to do. It's not like I could go for a bike ride or go film in the park. A) Roger wouldn't leave the house with me; B) how the hell was I supposed to get him on the damn bike with me? Not even both our skinny asses would fit.

And it's not like Roger could play guitar with me being seated at the right hand of the Rock 'n' Roll Father. Plus, I'd probably go insane if all he was going to play was "Your Eyes" and "Musetta's Waltz." My head started to throb. Just the thought of being attached to Roger caused me agony. I tried to adjust myself so I was in a laying down position, but Roger screeched out in pain. "My wrist my wrist my wrist my wrist my wrist!" he repeated, gasping for breath.

Immediately I rocketed back up, praying that I hadn't broken it. _Oh, yes, that's all we need. Roger with a broken wrist. _He clutched it with his left hand, biting his lip. "It's alright, I'm fine," he muttered, gritting his teeth. I knew by the look on his face that he was lying, but I decided not to go into it any further.

And we sat some more.

It wasn't awkward, it was just boring. And we all know that Roger is has some sort of ADHD problem, so he sat there tapping his fingers on the table, fooling with his hair, pulling thread from his sweatshirt or nursing his sore wrist. Me, occupied with just enjoying the silence, was just studying the loft, trying to think of the last time we cleaned it.

Then Roger started getting antsy. "Come on, Mark, can't we _do _something? Can't we call Joanne and get her to find keys that will work? Do they even have a freakin' key hole?" he raised our third hand and looked at his side of the handcuffs. "Shit, mine doesn't. Does yours?" Carefully, I looked at my handcuff for a long time before telling him that, no, we were screwed over because our handcuffs were virtually hopeless and we were gonna be stuck together forever.

Roger groaned loudly, like it was painful to be to the left of me. "Don't say that," he begged, "don't say something so depressing like that. Stuck to you forever? Awwwh," in his closed-eyes, agonized state, I dragged him into my room, grabbed my camera, and then the two of us sat back down on the couch. With my free hand, I turned the camera on and started filming.

"September 26, 11:06 AM, Eastern Standard Time. Maureen just came over, tried to do some kind of handcuffing trick, but fell flat on her ass. Now Roger and I are handcuffed together with no key. He's about to go crazy..." I zoomed in on his face. "Close in on Roger, who's probably going to kill me before we get out of these damn things. Maureen has sworn us to secrecy and—woah!" Quickly I pulled the camera out of his greedy grasp.

We looked like a couple of children. He reached for my camera but I held it high, standing up on the couch and holding it way over his head. Soon, he did the same, and the two of us were jumping up and down on the couch, him trying to grab my camera and me praying that he wouldn't get it. Then, strategically, he yanked down on the handcuffs, threw my camera to the ground and jumped off the couch, proceeding to bring me down with him and leave me face down on the cushions.

But I was stuck. No matter how hard he yanked the handcuffs, I would get snagged on the end of the couch. When I looked up, he was reaching desperately for the phone, a force that made me scared that his arm would come out of its socket. "Let me go!" he started yelling again, once more unaware that we were _attached _and there was nothing I could do about it.

My head started to hurt from the blows that it took against the back of the sofa. Roger was now merely inches from the receiver, his fingertips gracing the cold plastic of the phone. "Mark, come on, get up so I can call for pizza! Come on!" Liar. Liar, he is such a liar. Yeah, pizza. Pfft. He thought I'd fall for that one?

"Oh no you don't!" With one burst of energy, I pulled hard on the handcuffs and he went flying into the back of the couch. The noise was so loud and the hit so hard that when I didn't hear him moving at all, I thought the worst. Quickly, I jumped off the couch and stood in front of him, already afraid that I had killed him or something.

After checking his pulse and such, I came to a conclusion: he wasn't dead! Just unconscious. _Hmmm..._

But then, in all its brilliance, common sense smacked me in the head full force—Roger was dead weight. I had to sit around until he became conscious again. _Oh, boy_. No matter how hard I tried, Roger wouldn't budge any more than a quarter of an inch or so. _I'm going to go crazy! I can't be all Zen with HIM attached to my arm!_

Knowing my chances of movement were slim, I stood up, my left hand bringing Roger's right along with it. My eyes scanned the loft... _where's my camera? _Then I saw it, sitting on the floor on the other side of the couch. I looked down at his still form and then his wrist, which was bruising and had an ugly blue tint to it. _Ew._

Cautiously, I moved him so he was on top of an area rug. Snacking his forearm up, I slid him across the floor with me. I managed to get my camera and sit in this awkward fashion where I was on the couch, leaning over, and he was still unmoving, only I propped him up against the front of the couch.

Then I began filming.

"Still September 26... something o'clock... Um, well, Roger bashed his head pretty hard against the back of the couch and hasn't moved since. And I am _really _bored. Let's film him while he sleeps." The camera stayed on him for a while, so I eventually took it away. Finally, his eyes fluttered open and he groaned in pain, rubbing the back of his head with his left hand. "Aw, shit," he muttered. "What happened?"

Cleverly I hid the camera. "You whacked your head off the back of the couch," I told him casually. His face turned into a wince and then showed a hint of fear on it. He stood up so he was sitting on the couch next to me, looking into my eyes before continuing.

"You know, I think we should help Maureen," he decided, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Why the change of heart, O One With Heart of Coldness?"

"I had a dream that she clawed my eyes out with her fake nails."

This made me laugh, as I could perfectly picture Maureen with her fingers in Roger's eye sockets as he pleaded for mercy and she laughed evilly, stepping on his chest with her thickest heels. He slapped me upside the head. "No, really, though. I've been thinking."

I gasped jokingly.

"Shut up! I mean, Maureen has done a lot for us. Well, me, anyway. I guess we should repay her somehow, you know?"

Slinging the camera out from behind my back, I started to laugh manically. "I got you on _film _saying that! Ha! Oh, this is bribe footage right here. For sure." I threw the camera on the opposite couch for safekeeping as he towered over me, standing on the couch and bouncing on his heels. The veins in his head were popping out as if to say, _hey, we don't want proof of Roger being nice! Totally ruin his image that will! Stupid, naive Mark!_

"Mark, I'm gonna—!"

_Knock, knock, knock._

We froze. _A visitor? _"Oh, really, who the hell would freaking visit us at a time like _this?_" he groaned, hopping down from the couch. I stared at him with a panicked look, and soon he caught on. No one could find out about our little problem. The two of us looked around the loft, trying to find a place to look normal _and _hide the handcuffs.

"Where do we go?!" I asked, my brain going into a frivolous frenzy of horror. "Where?!?"

Roger looked equally stumped and petrified. "Um, um—the table! I'll sit in my seat at the head and you sit in yours diagonal! Cover the cuffs with the ugly table cloth your mom got us last Christmas underneath the table!" _I have never been so grateful for that freaking table cloth. _We both dove and hid the cuffs with amazing ability, like we've done it before or something. Yeah, like we rehearse this daily or something.

"Come in!" Roger called in a sing-song voice, trying to hide the sheer panic that was racing through both of our heads.

_Clatter_. "I can't!" Mimi's familiar voice called back, "It's locked!"

_Locked. _We had to get up and get it. And not look like we were handcuffed together.

We stood up, walked to the loft door, and Roger shoved me into the closet, pretending he was looking for something. "GET IN THERE AND LOOK LIKE A COAT!" he hissed, leaning in carefully and swallowing a lump in his throat.

"Why can't _you _hide in here?" I asked him, furious that I had to hide in amongst the shoes and cobwebs. Then I remembered: Roger has this fear of clothes hangers that I'll never understand. He won't tell me why, but one time he came to my house, saw a clothes hanger and absolutely freaked, jumping on my back and pleading for me to put it away.

The loft door slid open and Roger said, "Hey, Mimi."

Here goes the three-ring circus.

**A/N: **Haha, did I ever mention how much I love this plotline? Well, I do, and **AW Fudge-Ums **is the best person on the planet.

_Next chapter preview:_

"_Don't get mad... get glad," Mark grinned and pleaded with me, his hands clasped in a prayer-like way. "You know what will make you feel better?" it was a rhetorical question but I asked him what anyway, just to try to make him mad or drive him up a wall or something._

_He smiled his evillest smile and stood up, doing a spin, forcing me to do one with him. "I... feel... pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and—"_

"_NO!" I screeched, bringing my hands to my ears. "MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT—" _

_I wasn't getting off that easy. He sang over me, dancing like a freaking prancer across the loft, dragging me along. "I FEEL PRETTY AND WITTY AND GAAAAAY!"_

REVIEW!!!

–Steph.


	3. He Feels Pretty

1**A/N: **This chapter may be a little boring, but don't worry. It's only so long before one of them has to go to the bathroom :) Muahaha.

Oh, and instead of having those break lines, I'll put the first words in every new section in bold. :)

**TONIGHT IS OPENING NIGHT FOR MY SHOW! **YAYAYAYAYA! Wish me luck and let's hope I hit my high E as well as I usually do:)

Quick update this time. Hope you like!

**3. ****He Feels Pretty**

When I was certain Mark was stuffed in the closet (and that I wasn't near any of those scary clothes hangers!) and out of view, I opened the door and said, "Hey, Mimi." I pretended to pick through some things and throw shit around. Like we really needed to throw more shit around to find _other _shit.

"Hey, Roger. What'cha doin'?" she asked, leaning in the closet, peeking in next to me. I moved over, nudging her out of the way so she couldn't look in. What would she say if she saw Mark in the closet, _attached _to me at the wrist? We were like conjoined freaking twins, stuck together by our arms.

"_Ummmmm..._" I stuttered urgently. "Looking for your birthday present?"

"My birthday's in April, Roger."

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, "All the more reason for you _not _to be able to see it!" I leaned out a bit, looking her in the eye and winking. "Now, if you'll please excuse me, I need to relocate this thing so you can never find it again. Go into my room and lock yourself in there, _now_." I ordered, fiddling some more with the stuff in the closet.

"But, Roger—"

"No 'buts!' Go!"

When she was out of the room, I hauled Mark out of the closet and the two of us rushed to our positions at the table. "Okay, I'm done," and the two of us ate our pre-fixed breakfasts casually. She came in and looked at us like we were crazy. "Surprise!" I shouted, and Mark laughed nervously along with me.

She studied us as we ate our cereal in silence. "Roger," she said cautiously, "why are you eating with your left hand?" I froze. _Why the hell does she have to notice what hand I freaking eat with? _"You always eat with your right hand, and Mark eats with his left, because you two always complain about bumping elbows while eating, and I just ask why you two don't switch seats and you flip out and say it would screw up the balance of the world."

She made scales with her hands. "Your bedroom is over there," she pointed opposite to where I was sitting, "and your room is really cool, and then the kitchen and closet—with the clothes hangers—are not-so-cool. The clothes hangers'—I mean, closet's—not-so-coolness balances out your amazing coolness, and then Mark's lameness and your room's super 'fantasticalism' balance each other out."

My theory, folks. Isn't it lovely?

"Well—"

"It's opposite day!" Mark announced.

"No, it's not," I told her. "That was back in the day. In grade school." I wiped Mark's stupid excuse away and came up with a brilliant one. "We finally took your advice to heart," I explained, "he bumped my elbow so hard that the spoon got stuck up my nasal cavity, so I had to pry it out and then we were like, 'You know what, fuck this shit, we're just going to make our lives easier by listening to the all-powerful, all-knowing Mimi."

Don't even call me a kiss-up, because I'm not. I'm just terrible at improvising on the spot. However, Mimi didn't catch it, she just smiled and giggled. "Oh, okay! Well, Roger, I just stopped by to grab my heels for work," she pulled up her Cat Scratch boots and dangled them in front of my face. "I'm working longer hours today, and maybe I'll give you a personal show tonight if you want?"

"Please do," I said, but then I looked over at Mark, who had said the same thing at the same time as me! He looked like a little school boy who had just touched a girl's hand for the first time. He shook out of his daze. "Roger's been a little lonely lately, if you know what I mean," he whispered to her, and she nodded and giggled.

Wait, a show? How was she going to do that with just me when Mark was handcuffed _to _me? _Oh, yeah, that's right. She _can't. I really didn't want my girlfriend exposing herself to other men (not like she does it for a living or anything). "Um, Mimi?" I began, trying as best as I could not to break her heart _or _make her mad, "I..." What was there to say? I couldn't tell her that Mark and I were handcuffed together.

Mark butted in. "He's teaching me how to play guitar tonight," he lied smoothly, giving her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Mimi, but I've been dying to learn how and we've had to reschedule a thousand times. Can you just let him teach me one night? Just tonight?"

She sighed. "Fine, but you're not getting out of it next time!" and she left the loft, blowing me a kiss. I stood up and punched the wall, pissed that, because of Maureen, I was missing Mimi _dancing _for me!

"Don't get mad... get glad," Mark grinned and pleaded with me, his hands clasped in a prayer-like way. "You know what will make you feel better?" it was a rhetorical question but I asked him what anyway, just to try to make him mad or drive him up a wall or something.

He smiled his evillest smile and stood up, doing a spin, forcing me to do one with him. "I... feel... pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and—"

"NO!" I screeched, bringing my hands to my ears. "MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT—"

I wasn't getting off that easy. He sang over my screeching voice, dancing like a freaking prancer across the loft, dragging me along. "I FEEL PRETTY AND WITTY AND GAAAAAY!" He turned to face me, trying not to burst into laughter at the discomfort he was causing for me. "And I pity any Mark who isn't me today!"

This gave me the opportunity to jump in, stealing whatever spotlight had been on him and start screaming in his ear. "Have you met my good friend Marketh, the craziest freak down the lane? You'll know him the minute you see him—he's the one who is driving me fucking insane!" I turned around and started walking away from him (which was hard. We were connected and all).

But he starting skipping full force and I was flapping behind him, trying not to trip over my own feet. "See that pretty Mark in the mirror over there?" he asked, halting and pointing to a blank wall space.

I squinted, but I saw no mirror. "What mirror? Where?"

"Who can that attractive Mark be?" He gallantly moved in the direction of the couch, where his scarf and camera were on the chair.

"What? What? What?" Now I was really confused, almost falling over because of the speed he was dragging me at.

"Such a pretty bike," he pointed to the bike and presented it like it was a prize on _The Price is Right_, "such a pretty scarf, such a pretty camera, such a pretty me!" He clasped his hands together and I allowed him to pull my right hand wherever he wanted to. For affect he batted his white eyelashes.

Things were starting to get really creepy so I grabbed the hand he had raised in the air like he was serenading something and brought it down, slapping him on the top of the head. "Mark! Focus! We are _not _in Lollipop Land!" With a frown he looked at the floor, identical to what a dog might look like when his tail was between his legs. Come on, Mark, focus!"

The look he shot me was that of a pitbull. "Come on, Roger, I'm trying to have some fun! This situation sucks ass and I'm trying to make it a little lighthearted. What the hell are you gonna do, beat me up because I'm making you have a little fun here and there? Please. Come, on, Roger."

I snapped. Did he doubt that I'd beat him up? With a growl, I walked close to him, so our faces were inches apart. Then I lunged out at him, but he backed up enough to turn around and start running away. For what seemed like an hour we did that—at our, oh, say, one-foot distance from each other, I was chasing Mark across the loft. Finally, when he wasn't looking, he ran straight into a wall and fell to the ground, motionless.

Of course, me being in the rage I was in, didn't notice this until I had tripped over him and flung myself at the wall and was writhing on the floor in pain. For a while I went in and out of consciousness, until finally I succumbed to the inviting darkness that surrounded me in a flash.

**When **I finally woke up, I was still on the cold, hard floor. I shook Mark, still lying on my own back, and then I sat up, drawing a hand to my forehead. "I feel dizzy," I complained. I rubbed my aching head and tried to collect my thoughts on what happened. Mark, however, was as chipper as ever, and I wanted to wring his neck for it.

"I feel sunny," he chimed in, smiling through his pain.

The loft door slid open and a new voice jumped into the conversation. "I feel fizzy and funny and fine!" Maureen sang, "And so pretty that Miss America can just resign!" The drama queen stepped into the room, well, dramatically, and ran over to us, giving the two of us a great big hug. "Wake up, you guys, it's five o'clock! Thank you so so so so so much for not telling Joanne," she exclaimed into Mark's shoulder. "I owe you guys so much!"

"Damn straight you do," I grunted, remaining motionless as she hugged me. When she was done, we stood up and I held the handcuffs in front of her eyes. "How do you freaking open these things?" I asked, motioning to the part where the keyhole should be. "Why is there nowhere to put a key on? Why are you here? Do you have a solution? I can't stand being attached to him much longer!"

"Oh, come on, you know you love Mark!" Maureen smiled, and I turned around and Mark gave me a thumbs up, like he was afraid if he didn't that I'd beat him to a pulp or something. "And you love me, too, which is why you should stop yelling at me!"

There was an awkward silence in which Mark shouted randomly, "I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and gay!" He continued to sing and Maureen looked at me, beyond confused and I shrugged.

"He feels pretty," I whispered to her, and she nodded, still utterly misunderstanding the whole idea of what was going on.

"Wait," Mark stopped skipping mid-skip and looked skeptical, "how did you even get in here?"

_Yeah, Maureen, how'd you get in here?_

Her face turned to a tomato-ish color. "Um, well, I stole the extra key you guys had. Just in case I had to get in. Plus, if the door opens, you won't have to worry about hiding the cuffs, right?" she smiled nervously and I felt my temper rise. _What is wrong with her? What about _privacy? "You didn't tell Mimi, right? She said she stopped over here."

"No, we didn't tell her," I sighed, "we'll keep your secret, as long as you get us out of here before things get suspicious!"

That phrase got her smiling. Not just a regular smile, an evil, merciless, bloody, wicked smile. She took her keys, left, and blew us a kiss. "Well, I'm gonna go. Just wanted to make sure you guys were holding up and what not. Oh, by the way, it's starting to get dark. You've got a long week ahead of you. Maybe you should get some sleep."

_What's she hinting at? _My mind reeled, searching for an answer. Okay, sleep, yeah, next clue? Mark looked over at me, pale as a ghost and clearly unhappy. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Was this some kind of fucking test? Was it going to be the next Clothes Hanger Massacre? Were they going to attack me with those little sons of bitches?

Goosebumps rose on my skin and became covered in sweat. _Clothes... hangers... _so many nightmares had been caused by those goddamned things! My heart was racing. "No, no, no!" I screamed, covering my eyes with the back of my hand. "Not the clothes hangers! No, please, no! I'll do anything!"

The entire room froze and both occupants were looking at me like in belonged in an insane asylum. Maureen shook her head and laughed evilly before exiting, leaving Mark to be the lone starer who was probably scared for his own life, being attached to some moron who was afraid of common closet objects.

Then I was getting the thought that he was going to come at me with the clothes hangers again, so I started backing away from him. "What, Mark? Come on, please, don't—not the clothes hangers, come on, you know that's my weakness!"

_THEN _I started understanding. _'Get some sleep.' _Me and Mark would have to share a bed tonight. My face paled and I dropped to the floor, raising both hands to the heavens.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

**A/N: **With the song from West Side Story. I have actually never heard the "Have you met my good friend Maria?" part, I just reworded it by syllables, so if the words aren't in time with the actual time, I'm sorry :)

**I DON'T OWN WEST SIDE STORY! Stephen Soundheim does! Is it a movie? I'm gonna go rent it if it is over the weekend or something.**


	4. O King of Dweebs

1**A/N: **MY SHOW WAS AWESOME! I just got back from closing night and I'm crying. All the eighth graders are leaving for high school and I'm gonna be in eighth grade next year without them. This was no doubt the best play I have ever ever done, and probably the best play I will ever ever do. The people were amazing, I hit notes I never knew existed and my cast mates grew on me. But now they're leaving.

I hate getting attached to something so much and then losing it, you know? I felt like Once On This Island would go on forever, but it didn't, and now I'm freaking devastated.

Haha, we went to Friendly's afterwards and we were pouring sugar on eachother and singing and putting pepper in eachother's ice cream. We were screaming "My Humps" when four year old children were there. It was the best night of my life. But I'm still so sad, I'm crying my eyes out as I type this.

Sure, a lot of people were off-key and stuff, but I was amazing and that's all that counts! I got asked for _autographs. _Do you know how that feels? That feels AMAZING. We did SO great, and I am so, so so sad. After the show everyone was happy, but I was crying my eyes out, almost puking because I was sobbing so hard. I haven't cried like that in a while.

But this story isn't about crying, so I'll try to focus. Sorry for my rambling.

**4. ****O King Of Dweebs**

My hands flew to my ears and I covered them tightly, trying to block out Roger's girlish scream. I wanted to do the same, but I didn't want the windows to break or anything. Plus, I couldn't give Maureen that satisfaction. Finally, his screaming stopped, so I looked at him and opened my mouth to speak, but he was taking a deep breath, ready to start screaming again.

With my free hand I covered his mouth. "Roger, shh! That's _really _annoying. We knew this was coming, we're just gonna have to live with it and make it as comfortable as possible." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, trying to imagine what it would be like to sleep with Roger. Then I winced and shivered. _I am going to be scarred for life! _I sang in my mind.

_Riiiiiiiiing._

_Riiiiiiiiing._

"_Speeeeeaaaaaak."_

There was a short laugh. "Well isn't it my two favorite ladies?" Collin's familiar voice pushed through the answering machine. "Hey, I'm comin' home for Christmas early this year. I should be in sometime this week. So if you've got any weapons of mass destruction or little things you don't want me to see, hide 'em soon, 'cause I'm coming and I'm going to bomb-proof the house." _And the weirdest voice mail message award goes to: Tom Collins! _"A'ight, I'll see you then. Bye."

Roger and I exchanged a look, mostly of confusion. Coming early? Anything to hide? Did he know what was going on? "_Weapons of mass destruction?_" he asked incredulously, squinting at the machine and then back at me, trying to make sense of our loopy friend's comments. "_What _the _hell _is he smoking?"

I shrugged. "Marijuana?"

"How are we gonna fucking hide these things the whole time he's here?" Roger cried, grabbing at his hair and pulling it slightly. "And the sleeping with each other may seem a little suspicious, you think? Shit, _shit, _SHIT!" he stomped around a little longer and I came up with the most wonderful idea ever to—

"No."

Before I even announced it, Roger shot me down with a slight shake of the head, like I was crazy or something. "I can tell by the look on your face that this is a bad idea, and I'm going to hate it and I will immediately disagree with you," he pursed his lips and sighed, knowing that I was going to voice my idea anyway.

"We could say that we're gay," the two of us said at the same time, him in a deadpan, knowing tone, but I continued. "Oh, come on, Roger. It would be believable, right? It's not like we have to hug or make out or anything, just act gay, you know?" Roger stood up from his seat and walked over to me, obviously having a point on his side.

"Oh yeah? Well, what if he starts to hit on us or wants to have a threesome or something? What then?"

_Nightmares, nightmares, nightmares, nightmares..._

"Clothes hanger," I muttered, walking away from Roger slightly. That was the one thing I could always say to him when he was pissed at me. It always worked, too, like it did now. He shut his mouth and did some kind of a three sixty of the room before getting closer to me, like he was afraid that the clothes hangers were going to attack him or something.

"Roger, are you ever going to tell me what makes you so scared of those—"

"Shhh," he whispered in my ear, his eyes darting across the loft. "They'll hear you. They're with us right now. Shh, don't talk about them yet."

This got me thinking. _Roger, you need some fucking counseling, _I thought, kind of amused by the fact that big, tough, ex-junkie, band guy, I'm-not-gonna-cry Roger was scared of something as simple as a _clothes hanger. _You freaking hang _laundry _off of them and Roger was screaming and going to cry in the corner.

"_Roger—_"

"Mark!"

Taking him by the hand (though it wasn't needed—hell_o_, we're freaking linked together), I guided him to the couch and sat him down, throwing an arm around his shoulder and talking quietly to him. "Roger, you need to tell me what the deal with the clothes hangers is, right now, okay?"

"NEVER!" he stood up and the light shined on him at exactly the right angle, for he looked like Hercules or something. He laughed vilely and stood up, dragging me with him. "To the bedroom, where I must rest!" and the two of us trudged there, obviously not happy about having to share a bed with someone we were _clearly _not into or interested in sleeping in the same _room _as.

Once we got in there we both felt depressed. For five whole minutes we sat there, staring at the one full bed in Collins' old room. Roger sighed deeply and looked at me like he really didn't want to do this and he'd rather be anywhere else in the solar system at the time.

I could totally relate.

"So, um, are we gonna change into pajamas...?" I asked cautiously. Roger shrugged and looked at his apparel.

"I'm already in them."

"Roger, you're going to smell," I sounded oddly like a mom of some sort. Yeah, Mother Markie, do what she says or she might throw a film reel at you. "Put on some new clothes, I'm not sleeping with you if you're gonna smell like something died in your pocket."

"Well, first of all, you don't have much of a choice, and second of all," he patted the sides of his pants, "these don't have any pockets. Plus, you know, we're not in the stone age and we're not _completely _poor, we have running water. I could take a shower." He sighed and jumped on top of the bed, ready to lay down.

Then his eyes went wide and he groaned, falling backward onto the comforter, forcing me onto the bed next to him. "Yeah, that's what I thought. How the hell you gonna take a shower, Roger? Because I'm not freaking getting naked with you _just _for hygiene." A mental picture of me and Roger in the shower... I shivered violently. "Sorry, that's not how I roll."

Roger cocked an eyebrow at me. "That's not how you roll?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." He smiled at my weak comebacks and attempt at the hippest lingo. I think I'm pretty jazzy myself. You know, up to the jam. _I _am the bee's knees, and I don't need anyone to tell me that. I believe that nerds all across the world will come together as one when I am proven the most amazing person in the world! Go dweebs! YEAH!

Ahem.

When I looked up, Roger was rolling on his back, laughing his ass off. Apparently I had muttered the above phrase under my breath just loud enough for him to hear it. _That's _great. That was definitely going to haunt me for the rest of my life. I don't think I'll ever be taken seriously ever again.

"O King of Dweebs," he knighted me, using his left arm to do it. Once finished he burst into laughter again, so I walked over to the closet and threw a clothes hanger at him. _Shit, Mark. Why the hell did you have to go and do that? _I found myself thinking, because Roger froze and stared at the thing on his stomach like it was going to eat him or kill him or WORSE—screw up his hair.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screamed and fell off the bed, proceeding to smack his head on the corner of the end table. He scrambled away, over to the door, and fumbled with it to open it. When he finally _did _get it open, he shot out and ran into the kitchen, wielding a butter knife as he slowly crept back into the bedroom.

I bet you guys forgot we were handcuffed together. Well, I didn't, because all throughout this entire episode I was being towed along in a very painful manner. When he got the knife, he returned to the room and silently walked in, like he was trying to sneak up on it. He was finally close enough and he brought the knife down hard, snapping the clothes hanger in half. He continued to hold the knife, taking deep breaths in and out, staring at it.

"YEARHARMFHAHRG!" and he came down on the two halves and chopped them into tiny bits.

"Roger!" I shouted, pulling his hands down and slowly working the knife from them. "Roger, calm down, it's okay. Look, it's broken now. It can't hurt you, okay? Calm down. Shh, shh. There you go." Inconspicuously I pushed the small bits of clothes hanger off the bed and stuffed the knife underneath the bed.

Roger looked so lost. He was shivering and very paranoid. A moment ago he'd looked _rabid_, but now he looked a tad bit more serene, so it was certainly an upgrade. "Come on, Roger, let's... just... try to get some sleep, okay? You climb under first..." I lifted the blankets for him and he got under just the comforter. He says he likes to be cool when he sleeps, opposed to how I like to be warm. I got under both the sheet and the comforter, so it was a little less awkward.

Roger slept on his back on the left side of the bed. Another thing about him, he sleeps on his back. I sleep on my stomach, but I was pretty much forced to sleep on my back, or I'd be twisting my shoulder out of its freaking socket. Taking in deep breaths, I counted the shadows on the ceiling, the holes in the wall... pretty much everything, until there was nothing left to count.

Somewhere in there I fell asleep.

Not for long, though, because eventually the light shone through the window and my eyes opened. "Hell_o_, new day!" I called, spreading my arms wide open, jerking Rogers up from its peaceful position. "Good morning, starshine, the earth says hello! You twinkle above us, we twinkle below!"

Roger sat up quickly and shook his head furiously. "I'm up!" he slurred, pushing me over. "No need to sing, I'm awake."

Out of nowhere, the door to our room opened, and Collins was dangling the key that he'd had made for the loft a long time ago in front of his face. "Hey, boys, I came home a little early. Did you hide all the—HOLY SHIT MARK WHY ARE YOU IN THE BED WITH ROGER?" He dropped the key and it hit the floor.

For a split second the two of us looked at each other and then Roger rolled of the bed, landing with a thump. "I'm not on the bed with him!" However, from the force of his pull, I was brought down to, but on top of him, so it looked like we were a couple of lovers. I screamed and rolled off, breathing heavily, scarred for life.

Collins was laughing his ass off.

He thought we were gay.

**A/N: **-grins and claps merrily- hehe.

Okay, I've gotta go wash my face. Its too late, but tomorrow's Saturday, so... hmm...

Your sad/emo/depressed/missing friend,

–Steph.


	5. Smash

1**A/N: **I just want to clear a few things up.

One—I have no idea where Roger's fear of clothes hangers came from. Honestly, I was just sitting around and then I was like "Haha, what if one of them was afraid of _clothes hangers?_" and there it was. It was originally going to be Mark, actually, but I thought it'd be funnier if Roger, the hardcore rocker, was afraid of a freaking clothes hanger.

Two—Mark singing West Side Story is based off of me. Haha, I was skipping around my room one morning when I was supposed to be getting ready for school and was singing that song.

Three—Making Mark such a dweeb. I just love to make him weird. :)

I think I'm turning into Mark—I'm becoming a freaking spaz. :O OH NO! Haha.

**5. **Smash

He thought I was gay.

Collins thought me, Roger, the one who'd banged enough girls to fill the Wall of China in his first years of adolescence, was _gay_. Somehow that was amusing and horrifying simultaneously. The amusing part was the fact that him thinking I was gay was stupid of him, but the horrifying part was that Mark had just fallen on top of me and looked like he was trying to freaking seduce me.

He shrieked as I shoved him off and shot up, walking to the red-faced Collins. "No, Collins, we're not gay!" I huffed, heaving Mark over so he was next to me. "See? We're handcuffed together. We _had _to sleep together because we're stuck like this! Maureen—and the trick—the MHT—I told her not to—"

My mouth stopped moving when my eyes realized what Collins was doing. He was staring with entertained disbelief at our wrists and the small chain of metal between them. Then he burst into a fit of laughter, pointing at me and then Mark. "Y-You let Maureen go near you with _handcuffs?_ Aw, shit, guys, _that's _where you went wrong!" he laughed and stumbled out of the room to make us some coffee. Mark and I assumed our regular positions at the table.

He chuckled once more as he got the paraphernalia (word of the day!) together to make the coffee. "So what possessed you to allow Maureen cuff you together?"

"_Nothing _possessed us to do _anything_," I defended.

"...which is why we're stuck like this," Mark added. "We didn't do _anything_. She just kind of walked over and was like, 'Hey! You guys wanna be handcuffed together?'" he giggled for Maureen-like effect, "'Oh well, 'cause I'm gonna do it anyway!' _Click_. Me and Roger didn't even see it coming." He sighed and looked at the table with great interest.

"Because you're both fucking retarded, dense idiots, that's why," Collins laughed yet again, sitting down next to us as the coffee maker did its thing. "Tell me the whole story, but do it slowly so I have time between to laugh at you."

I hated my life at this point.

But we told him the whole story, me starting with my pancakes with little M&M's in them. Actually, I went into great detail about my breakfast, so Mark cut me off and told the "important parts" of the story. I think what color each M&M was is very important, but Mark disagreed, so I moped for a while before agreeing to let him tell the story himself.

The one thing that would have made Collins' expression and body language better would be a bowl of popcorn. He looked so involved, his eyes focused on the two of us as we animatedly told our tale. He didn't laugh until the very end, when he started rolling across the floor, writhing in what seemed like a pain almost.

"I hate being stuck to this dweeb," I groaned, punching Mark in the arm.

Collins came up for enough air to spit out, "If he's a dweeb, then you're a dwebette!" And he went right back to cracking up, laughing unhealthily. Part of me was worried that he'd blow a gasket and have a heart attack or something, but the other part was kind of happy that there was potential for his death.

"_Hey! _Dwebette would be a _girl._ I'm _not _a girl!"

Mark was instantly staring at me like I was nuts. "Would you prefer dweeb_ling?_"

"Yeah, I kind of would."

And then Mark was laughing.

When the two of them were finally spent, Collins stood up and brushed himself off. "Okay, I think I'm gonna go unpack or something. You two entertain each other at all costs. Have fun being connected," and he waved and started walking in the direction of his room.

Finally, he was gone! Peace and quiet, maybe some time to get my thoughts together—

_Whirrrr. _"September 27, 8:12 AM, Eastern Standard Time. Collins just came in and thought Roger and I were—"

"WOULD YOU CUT THAT OUT?" I demanded, snapping my elbow back so it hit the camera's lens. "Christ, Mark, can you go through two minutes without fucking filming something? Jesus. Put the camera down or I'm going to kill you!" I smacked the camera out of his hand and stood up, brushing my hair back.

Then Mark stood up. His face read humiliation.

"What?" I snapped.

"Roger—I kinda have to... um..."

He was stalling. "What?" I demanded. "Mark, just spit it out." I tapped my foot impatiently. We didn't have all day here.

"I have to—umm..."

"WHAT?"

"Pee."

_Silence._

"EW!" I shouted immaturely, backing away from him as if he had cooties. Oh, crap. I was _not _putting my hands anywhere _near _him! "Gross!" I saw him looking at me, obviously amused, but what did he expect? I was that stupid kid in class who laughed every single time the teacher said Lake Titicaca. I still laugh at that now.

"Well, you know, most people have to do it from time to time," he noted, shaking his head at me.

"Hey, don't go all parentlike on me! Fine. Just... I'll look away."

Slowly we made our way to the bathroom and I turned away as Mark did his thing. I shivered and made sure my eyes were shut. "Scarred for life... scarred for life... scarred for life..." I repeated, shuddering some more. "Scarred for life... scarred for—"

"Oh, shut _up_, Roger. Grow up." He flushed the toilet and washed his hands as I tried to get images out of my mind.

We walked into the kitchen and started drinking our coffee when Collins came in, sneezing up a storm. "God, I haven't been in my old room in ages. Dust is collecting everywhere." He stopped to sneeze. "I'm washing the comforters, so I suggest no one takes a shower until, like, tomorrow when the hot water catches up on itself."

I nodded and took a sip of my coffee, casually looking out at the New York skyline beside me. "So what's up with the handcuffs? Why didn't you just go get them taken off somewhere?" he asked, grabbing a banana from the counter. He took a seat next to me. "I mean, I'm sure you could go somewhere and pay someone to have it done."

Mark sighed. "We already talked about this. It would be way too expensive. And painful. Have you seen how close these handcuffs are to each other? They're supposed to be display cuffs, not actual handcuffs that you put on someone. They don't even have a keyhole."

The phone rang.

_Speeeeeaaaaak._

"Good morning, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Um... I just wanted to check on you guys. I'm gonna apologize again for getting you stuck like that... I'll try to casually mention it to Pookie. Thank you again for not telling anyone. I heard that Collins was supposed to be in soon. I guess he's going to have to find out."

With a questioning look, Collins looked our way. None of us had heard Maureen this down in the dumps before. Collins stood up and hit the speaker button on the phone. "Hey, Mo, it's me. You're on speaker. The conjoined twins are here, too."

I glared at him.

"Hey, guys. Listen—I've got to get ready, I've got a job interview today, and then Pookie wants me home so we can spend some time together. I'll talk to you later, okay? Love you guys." The phone went dead.

"Man, she really feels bad about this, doesn't she?" Collins asked, taking a bite of banana. "You can tell by the way she's talkin'."

There was a comfortable silence that was filled with Collin's odd chomping noises on the banana and Mark's slurping. I was deep in thought, trying to figure out how to escape this epic-saga-to-be. Someone would write a story about this in the future. "The story of how the albino and the amazing rocker got attached and lived to tell the story."

I'm quite brilliant.

Suddenly, Collins broke the tranquility and shot up from his chair, allowing it to fall back and hit the floor with a thump. "I've got a plan!" he cried in a British accent. I laughed as he slipped across the floor (he always does in his socks. Always. It's been that way since we first moved here), but instantly stopped when he came out with a hammer.

Okay. Tom Collins is definitely a smart man. Christ, he teaches at _MIT. _Sure, he may be an anarchist, but I still wouldn't trust myself in his presence when he had a hammer. Frankly, I've never even liked playing baseball with him. Collins plus bat equals nothing but trouble.

"Collins...?" I asked warily, "Collins? What are you doing with the hammer?"

He rolled his eyes. "Duh, I'm just gonna smash 'em off."

**A/N: **I'm watching Chicago as we speak :) Just finished "We Both Reached for the Gun"

I NEED SUGGESTIONS! We need more things to happen to our hot best friend duo.

Thanks for reading!

–Steph.


	6. Swing and a Miss

1**A/N:** -snicker- Guys, I know who isn't reviewing. There are thirteen people who have this story on alert, and I'm not getting that many reviews. -depressing-

But that's okay! I'd just like it if you guys reviewed. I wanna know what you think of it, and recommendations, criticism, etc. -throws brownies- Brownies to reviewers!

And those of you who fav'd this story—I love you to death! I think there's four of you. -throws cookies- Cookies for you! You guys are the best!

**6. Swing and a Miss**

My mind went blank. The only thing I could comprehend was Collins coming towards the two of us with a hammer, which isn't a good situation for _anyone _to be in. Roger instantly understood where I was coming from, because he made a noise that resembled a chipmunk's cry and sprung back, dragging him with me a bit.

"What?" his voice was high-pitched and terrified. Kind of nasally. "No, that's okay, Collins—no, don't smash it—eeeek!" he squeaked as Collins got closer and closer. "Smash Mark's head! Come on, it looks like a pumpkin—smash that, don't smash anything else—go pumpkin smashing!"

I was so frightened that I had to agree with him. "Yeah, just smash my head instead!"

Obviously amused by our horror, Collins lunged out playfully. It wasn't that playful when he tripped and ended knocking Roger off the skull with the head of the hammer, proceeding to knock him out. He collapsed in a heap to the floor. See? Collins is the biggest klutz Roger and I have ever met.

Christ. I'm starting to think of us as one person because of this. Remind me to kill Maureen for this later.

I dropped to my knees and crawled over to Roger (which wasn't necessary. I keep forgetting that we're kind of attached). "Collins, look what you freakin' did!" He was next to me, staring at a large bump that had formed on Roger's head. "_This _is why we don't trust you with anything that could possibly be considered a weapon."

He sighed and put down the hammer. "We'll wait until he gets up, and _then _I'll smash the cuffs off. I'll go get some water," he stalked off to the kitchen and returned with a bucket. He dumped the contents onto Roger's swollen head and the dweebling hopped up, pulling me quite violently with him.

"What happened?"

It all happened so quickly after that. In about four seconds, Collins had ran over with a chair and strapped Roger down with a belt he'd gotten from his room. In a daze, I tried to run away, almost bringing the chair with me, but I was too weak to run too far. Collins stuffed me into my own chair, across the table from Roger, so that our arms were at a full stretch and both of us were trying to pull away.

I had Roger's arm pulled almost out of its socket, because he was still confused and glassy-eyed from being knocked out. "Wha's going on?" he groaned, watching as Collins placed the hammer on the table. He shook his head and his eyes looked clearer. "Oh. Shit, Col, you still have that freaking hammer?" he tried to skitter away but he was stuck in the chair, tight.

Too tight. It made me fear that Collins had done this before. I stared down to where I was bungeed to the chair. He seemed like an expert at this or something.

"Just sit still, and I won't hurt either if you!"

We got quiet. I didn't want to get hit by the effing hammer, and I'm sure Roger wasn't too big a fan of large metal objects, especially held by Collins. I watched in fear, sweat pouring down my back, as Collins shook with concentration. He held the hammer high above his head and came down hard on the table.

He missed the chain. He hit the table and a loud echoing noise was heard, a noise that sent Roger into a screaming fit. "Roger, Roger—Roger, calm down!" he cried, trying to hold the madman down. It took a few minutes, but Roger calmed down, settling enough so that Collins could take another swing on things. (Get it? Swing? Like, swing the hammer, another "swing on things?" Puns are punny. Man, I'm choc full of hilarity today. Told you I was hip.)

Gulping and looking away, I thought of what it would be like to be free again. Be able to sleep in my own room, use the bathroom in my own privacy, film, _shower..._ in a few minutes, Roger and I would probably be disconnected and we'd never go near Maureen when she had anything that could possibly _re_connect us ever again in our lifetimes.

I was narrating this whole thing in my mind. _Oh, Collins just barely out of the strike zone. And now... he gets ready... brings the hammer down—_

However, when Collins brought down the hammer this time, he missed and hit Roger's hand, making him scream again. The Long-Haired Wonder squirmed and shouted, curse words flowing out of his mouth as he writhed in pain. _OHH, IT'S A SWING AND A MISS! _"Shit, Collins, what the fuck was that for!" he screamed, trying to use the hand that was connected to me to cradle it.

Then I realized how off Collins must have been. He hit Roger's left hand, the one that wasn't handcuffed. He was approximately a foot off-target. When I saw the look of apology on his face, I knew that Collins had tried to give him a scare. Not actually hit him, but just get close enough to terrify him.

Of course, Roger wasn't smart enough to realize this, so Collins was safe. Maybe not for too long—Roger's hand was turning an ugly blackish color with each passing moment. I knew it was bad when I realized that Roger was fighting back tears—Roger doesn't cry on a whim. That must have been really painful.

Before I even knew he left, Collins came back with an ice pack wrapped in paper towels. "Shit, Roger, I'm _so _sorry—I'm really sorry, seriously, I'm—"

"SNEARGH!" Roger lunged out with his teeth at Collins, looking like something in the rabid dog family. Seriously, if I'd gotten that on film, I'd draw some foam on his mouth and tint his eyes red.

"Roger, hold on. Just hold the ice to your hand, the swelling should go down," Collins held the ice there for a couple of seconds, and Roger eventually took over to do it himself. The three of us just sort of sat there, until there was a knock at the door and Mimi was shouting our names. Roger and I frantically looked at each other.

"Collins, quick—get the table cloth from the other table!" I yelled in a hushed voice, pointing across the loft to where a table was cluttered with dishes and such.

"But there's stuff all over it!"

"QUICK!" Roger pushed.

So Collins obeyed, closing his eyes and grabbing one end of the table cloth. Everything that had once been on it when clattering to the floor, and Mimi suddenly went frantic. "Are you guys okay in there? Smashing is bad. Open the door—shit. Roger? Mark? I'm gonna call nine-one-one if you don't answer me right now!"

In a blur, I was shoved underneath the newly adorned table, and Collins ran up to the door and slid it open. I could hear Mimi practically fall in, imagine her looking around the loft for any sign of Roger or I. Then, she realized who'd answered the door and dove into his arms. Collins had always been Mimi's "teddy bear."

"Collins! You're back early! How are you? How've you been holding up?" the two of them were laughing, and I was figuring that Collins was spinning her around like he always did. "Where are Mark and Roger?" this was her final question, and then she must have seen Roger, because she came running toward the table.

"Hey, Roger, how have you been? I have great—oh, _Santa Maria_, Roger what happened to your hand?"

Roger took in a deep breath but then simply said, "Banged it, I guess."

I remembered that the hammer was sitting on the table and wondered how she'd take it. I looked at my surroundings. Was there any way that I could get the hammer off the table without exposing myself? Nope. So what could I do to entertain myself while I was under there. Then, it hit me in the face like four thousand bricks.

Crawling a couple of feet forward, I made it to Roger's combat boots and tied his shoelaces together. If I stood my ground while he tried to walk, he'd go face first into the floor. As long as I pulled it off right, it'd be hilarious, and Roger would be rendered incapable of moving.

"So why did you guys move the table cloth to this table?" she asked casually, sitting down somewhere near the bananas. "Last time I came in it was on that table, right?"

"Uh, yeah. So what was the news?" he asked, urgently getting off the topic.

"Oh! Right! Haha, sorry, I have the shortest attention span ever. My parents finally want to meet you, Roger! They said that it'd be great for us to shoot down there and meet them!" she sounded extremely happy and started clapping, running across the room and probably pulling Roger into a hug. However, said hugee didn't speak.

"I—" he stuttered. "Um, do we have to go soon?"

"Yeah, tonight. Why?"

He groaned. "This isn't exactly the best _time—_"

"Roger, come on!" she sounded aggrivated. "It's _never _the best time. Mama and Daddy never have time, and you've been telling me how you've been dying to go meet them! It'd be great. Why don't you want to go, Roger? This is perfect timing. Come on, do this for me. I'll be _really _pissed if you don't," she warned. "Please please please please please please please please please?"

_No, Roger! Don't listen to her! Don't listen to her, Roger, it's all a scheme! Don't! Roger, D—_

"—please please please please please please please—?"

"Fine!" he groaned. "When is it?"

"Tonight."

"_Tonight?"_

"Yes."

"Well, Mimi, you see—"

Okay, I needed to put a stop to this. Jumping up with pride, I—

—smashed my head into the table. _Right. _I'd totally forgotten that I'd spent the last five minutes underneath a table and I hadn't _moved. _"Ahh!" I popped my head out of the table cloth, and sure enough, there was Mimi, staring at me. "Oh, hi, Mimi." I muttered nervously, my voice quivering.

Roger leaned back and muttered something along the lines of "Here we go." I couldn't agree more, frankly.

"Um—Collins, you found me! My turn to seek!" And I hid right back under the table and started counting backward rather loudly. "Twenty! Nineteen! Eighteen! Seventeen! Sixteen—!"

"What is he doing?" Mimi asked.

"Don't ask. Some weird ritual Collins and Mark _always _do when the reunite. But, anyway, I need to tell you something," he sighed.

"Fifteen! Fourteen! Thirteen! Twelve! Eleven—!"

She shuffled her feet a bit. "What is it?"

"Well, um, you see—" he stalled.

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six—!"

"_Mark, would you shut the fuck up?_" Roger shouted, kicking me underneath the table. My chest burned and I choked on air a bit, but then got right back into the swing of things. "Um, me and Mark kind of—" he was going to do it. He was going to spill our secret, and Mimi was going to tell Joanne, and Joanne was going to flip, and we were all going to die. What a great way to have the apocalypse, eh? Death by evil lawyer.

I started counting louder. "FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO—!"

But then, just as all hope was lost, Super Collins came flying into the room and saved our asses. "We made a bet. I told them I could stuff six bananas in my mouth at once, and if they lost, they'd have to follow each other around for the rest of the day," I loved him at that moment. I wanted to jump up and hug him, but I'd probably hit my head again.

Then, someone was jumping and Mimi was walking away from us. "Oh, okay, I guess Mark can come. But you have to go, Roger! Be ready by five tonight. They're cooking us dinner." My stomach growled. The Marquez's always had good food. Mimi cooked some of her family recipes for us from time to time—delicious.

The door closed and it seemed everything in it left out a relieved sigh. "One," I breathed, my countdown finally finished. But now a different countdown would begin.

Meeting Mimi's parents.

**A/N: **Hey, guys!

I always like to have a big dramatic story going. Once I finish this or Joker, I'm gonna start a story called Ten Little Bohos. If any of you steal this idea, I'll hate you forever. :( Anyway, there is this poem called "Ten Little Indians" by Agatha Christie, and I love it. I'm going to change it to "Ten Little Bohos."

It'll be a murder story. I hope'll like it when I post it.

**Ten Little Indians**

_By: Agatha Christie_

Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;

One choked his little self and then there were nine.

Nine little Indian boys sat up very late;

One overslept himself and then there were eight.

Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon;

One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.

Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;

One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.

Six little Indian boys playing with a hive;

A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.

Five little Indian boys going in for law,

One got in Chancery and then there were four.

Four little Indian boys going out to sea;

A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

Three little Indian boys walking in the zoo;

A big bear hugged one and then there were two.

Two little Indian boys sitting in the sun;

One got frizzled up and then there was one.

One little Indian boy left all alone;

He went and hanged himself and then there were none.

This will feature all of the Bohos: Mimi, Roger, Mark, Samantha (Mark's OC girlfriend), Collins, Angel **(she lives)**, Benny, Alison, Maureen and Joanne.

Aight, this has been long.

–Steph.

_Next Cchapter preview: _

Being attached to Mark is one thing. Being attached to Mark at my girlfriend's parents' house is another. Being attached to Mark is moderately annoying, but being attached to him at my girlfriend's parents' house is ultra-awkward.

Dinner was served and Mark sat side by side, both of us missing our food as we stabbed at it, because we were eating with opposite hands. The forks hitting the plates made the horrendous sound of claws on a chalkboard, and her parents' eyes on me felt like bullets to my head. I was sweating like a pig.

Mimi's Dad was staring me down, like he thought I was hiding something. "So," he said, obviously preparing to grill us or something, "do you guys have any _gay _friends?"

I was going to answer something rational, but then Mark came in with, "Of course! We support gays. Our best friend, Collins, once dated a gay crossdresser, but she died last year. And then my ex, Maureen, is dating a woman!"

**Ahahah. Mark. If you guys have any awkward things that could happen, shower me with them :)**


	7. Meet The Parents Pt 1

1**A/N: **Special thanks to **jumpOVERtheMOON**, the person who inspired the idea for Roger to meet Mimi's parents. You rock :)

**7. **Meet the Parents

"One," Mark exhaled, just as the door closed. Why was _he _relieved? He didn't have to spend the most ungainly evening of his life with his girlfriend on one side and his _best _friend attached to his arm. The latter, maybe, but definitely not the former. But instead of flipping on him, I was much too stressed, so I agreed with him.

"Ready or not, here we come," I muttered in understanding.

Then, I fully realized what the hell was going on. _I _was visiting _Mimi's parent's _for the _first time _and I had _Mark _connected to my left side. "Oh, no!" I groaned, hitting my head against the table over and over again. Mark came up and sat down (_finally_) and started biting his thumbnail.

"What?"

"I have to go to Mimi's house with _you_!"

There was a whooping laugh from a kitchen, a laugh that could only belong to Collins. "Ahaha. Damn, Rog, you're in for quite a night," he snickered, and then chuckled some more. I shot him the bird, but my black-and-blue hand disagreed with the movement.

"Thank you _so _much for freaking ruining my chance there! I'm done with Maureen being sorry. This _sucks._ I haven't had sex for, like, a fucking week, I'm attached to this albino, small-bladdered _being_, and to top it all off, I'm meeting my girlfriend's parents for the first time and this dorkfuck is going to have to follow me around the entire time!"

My breathing was heavy when I finished my little speech, and Collins looked from me to Mark before trying to withhold his laughter. "Dorkfuck?" And he was laughing all over again, and I just couldn't take it. I launched myself across the room at him.

All of a sudden, I stopped, stuck. Collins started cackling manically again and I turned around. Mark was wrapped around the leg of the table, his wrist's circulation cut off and obviously in pain. "Ow ow ow ow ow! Roger, let go, let go! Stop!" he was screeching, trying to pull back on my strong hold.

I only slackened it a bit and used his own words against him: "Mark, I'm not holding on." I mocked his geeky tone and he glared at me, rubbing his wrist tenderly.

"You guys better start primping now. It's four and you have one hour to survive. C'mere, Roger, I'll help you pick out what to wear. I'll show you what _I _wore when I met Angel's parents for the first time." He started leading me to my bedroom, but I got stuck again.

"Hell_o_!" Mark shouted grumpily. "Don't forget about little old me over here!" He waved his arm crazily and pointed to where his left arm was stuck. Sighing, Collins walked over and untangled him, and the three of us walked to my room. As long as Collins didn't make me wear the only tux that the three of us at one point in time shared, I was good.

Said suit was a great thing for us at one point in time. Since they were so expensive, we only bought one and the three of us shared it (it was before Benny and Maureen moved in). It was too thin for Collins and too big for Mark, but its waist size was the same as mine. Collins, too muscular, Mark, too scrawny.

However, it was too tall for my frame (and I'm tall! But Collins is taller), _much_ too long for Mark (the one time he wore it, we had to double cuff the both the pant legs _and _the sleeves!), but perfect for Collins. It was just the wrong size for Mark in every way, which was funny. Even the color of it contrasted with his freaking white skin tone. It was a black suit with greyish buttons—it made him look even whiter. Poor Mark. He got the short end of the stick.

Collins rifled through my drawers with a talent I didn't know he possessed and picked out my "best clothes"—a sweater vest (_why _I had a sweater vest, I'm not sure) and a pair of (surprisingly) non-ripped jeans. The sweater vest wasn't exactly working for me, but Mark absolutely adored it, so I let him wear it. In fact, I let him _have _it.

Instead, Collins gave me a collared blouse thing that was white with beige, horizontal stripes to pair with the jeans. I'm not sure what he did to my hair, but he ruffled it or something. When he brought me over to the mirror, I gasped at the fact that I didn't look like I was a lazy bum. He laughed at my face.

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at makin' people look better than they do in real life."

I faked hurt. "I just clean up _real _good."

"This is the best thing ever!"

My head turned in the direction of the new voice. There was Mark in his new sweater vest. I choked on a laugh and turned back to look at Collins, who was equally amused but was better at hiding his urge to laugh his ass off. "You look very pretty, Mark," he commented.

"Collins, NO!" I shouted, diving in his direction to cover his mouth, but it was too late. Mark had an evil look on his face. I shook my head at Collins and smacked him on the side of the head. "Fuck you, Collins!"

"I...feel...pretty!" Mark started skipping, reprising his performance a few days prior. "Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and GAY! And I pity any Mark who isn't me today!" He did some weird pirouette thing that twisted my arm, almost popping it off, until he rewound and I could feel my arm again.

"Thanks for that, Mark," I mumbled, turning to see Collins with tears in his eyes. Sure, he chose _now _to start laughing.

Markarella stopped singing, finally, and fixed his sweater vest. "Okay, I'm done," he declared.

Something struck me. "Wait, Collins, what are we gonna do about the handcuffs?" Just at that moment, the doorbell rang.

"Good luck with that," Collins muttered.

"Shit!" I started running around. "We need... umm... a piece of fabric! I need a piece of fabric, pronto, stat, ASAP!" I ran into April's ex-bedroom and pulled out her old sewing kit. There was a stray piece of pink fabric. _Pink_. But it would have to work. Carefully, I wrapped it around the chain between the two of us. It looked odd, but I could cook up and excuse.

I pulled the loft door open, and there was Mimi, looking absolutely _stunning _in just a simple pair of jeans. Her hair was pulled back at the top, her curls flowing over her shoulders. The clip she used twinkled in the lamplight. The shirt she was wearing had a belt across it where it covered her waist, and the rest of it flowed to her mid-thigh.

She saw my grinning face and did a twirl, the bottom of the shirt spinning like a skirt would. "What? You like?"

I nodded dumbly. I hoped I wasn't drooling. "Si."

She laughed, throwing her hair back. "Come on, idiots."

- - - -

The car ride was... uncomfortable.

Mimi didn't understand why I couldn't drive/sit in the passenger seat, and I explained that Collins was serious about his bets. "Mark and I can't leave the other's side through the whole night. He even tied us together with this fabric," I held up the pink fabric. "And he had to make it pink, too."

Shaking her head, but still keeping her eye on the road, Mimi chuckled. "That guy is a piece of work."

"I know." Nervously, I tapped my fingers on the window. Sitting in the back made me feel like I was in jail, on my way to death row. "Mimi? Do you think your dad will like me?" I asked cautiously, the nervousness in my voice inevitable. Dads always made me nervous. Maybe because mine hadn't exactly been the best, maybe because they didn't like the fact that I was a rocker. Maybe because I was way more attractive than them.

The first time I met April's dad had been hell. He hated me right off the bat and demanded I leave. The next time I just kissed his ass and he took me in like his own son. Since then I've been his best friend. To this day I still am—he calls me every once in a while and asks if he can come over and visit. He absolutely adores Mark and Maureen and Collins.

"Why not worry about Mamì?" she joked, looking at me through the rearview mirror. "She bites, you know." She bared her teeth and pretended she was tearing something apart. "She's actually quite the ankle biter."

When she really saw my face she stopped. "Oh, come on, Roger, of _course _he will. Just don't piss him off. If you're polite, of course he will."

"I'm not worried about your mom," I came in, a little late, "because the ladies always dig me. It's a given."

She rolled her eyes and yawned, obviously unamused. "Of course."

"They dig me because I'm sexy," Mark offered.

_Mark! _"Dah, I forgot you were here!" I banged my head against my window. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. _"Now your family is going to hate me for everything I'm worth! _Why _did Maureen have to—"

I froze.

Mark gaped.

Mimi hit the breaks.

"Why did Maureen have to _what?_"

"Mimi—"

"Answer me!"

"Mimi, no, wait—"

"Roger, I will turn this car around—"

"Get out of the middle of the road!"

**A/N: **Wow, this is going to be a long chapter. Unfortunately, next chapter is going to have to be Roger's POV, too. Don't worry, though, we'll get Mark's view too.

Don't expect any drama. Roger's not really hurt, I just needed to end it somewhere.

The other day in chorus, we didn't have much to do, so my chorus teacher put on High School Musical. I didn't realize how much I _really _hated it until today. I mean, sure I disliked it, but ALL of their voices were FAKE! I mean, I know Ashley Tisdale was the lead in Les Mis before she went to Disney, but it's so FAKE in that movie!

And it's not a real musical! The only song that's musical material is the one in the cafeteria, and it's not even that good! Usually, they're singing for a purpose. In RENT, you have almost EVERY song not being sung because there was music playing, they're singing instead of talking. The song Rent could have so easily been dialogue, but it's a SONG. HSM is a knock-off musical through my eyes.

If you guys like it, I'm sorry, that's just my opinion. Please don't hate _me_ because I hate HSM.

AND NOW I'VE RAMBLED. Anyway. I just have a quick Q—please rate this story for me. 1 being terrible, 2 being lame, 3 being mediocre, 4 being great, 5 being fantastic, 6 being one of your faves, 7 being so-marvelous-amazing-fantastic-unhumanly spectacular that it's too good to be true, one of your **top** favorites :)

I'm thinkin' I'm gonna write a companion piece to this about when they got the suit :) Just because I figure it'd be funny.

ANYWAY, stay tuned. :)

–Steph.


	8. Meet The Parents Pt 2

1**A/N:** _Eeek! Sorry, late update, but at least I updated... right? I'm finally earning some sort of a life, because it's summer now!_

**8.** Meet The Parents Pt. 2

I leaped over the middle of the front row of seats, grabbing hold of the wheel and jerking it to the right. Kicking her thigh until her foot went down on the gas pedal, I steered us off the road, yelling at her to brake. But she didn't, so we flew forward, proceeding to smash the front of her car into a tree. My head went flailing forward into the windshield.

Right, the car. We managed to get enough money to get Mimi a car for her birthday after she almost died. It wasn't exactly brand new; in fact, it barely ran. And we didn't have insurance, so this car was history, thanks to my mouth, Mimi's lack of driving, and the asshole behind us who just happened to be driving a freaking eighteen wheeler.

"Mimi!" Mark blamed, pulling his head back from the seat it had smashed into. "Don't stop on the middle of the road!" Then he must have noticed that I wasn't moving. "Shit, Roger!" he jumped up, untwisting his wrist as he went.

I had gone forward and fallen from my standing position steering the wheel, managing to first crack my head against the windshield, and hard, and then to go ahead and jam my head in between the dashboard and windshield, kind of sort of stuck.

"Dammit, no air bags," Mimi complained, rubbing her forehead. She must have mashed into the wheel. Out of the corner of my open-a-slit eye, I saw her look at me with horror. "Roger! Are you okay?" I was pulled back into the passenger seat, seeing stars the whole time. My head ached.

"Fuck, he's bleeding," _Mark. _He pulled a napkin out of the glove compartment and dabbed my forehead lightly.

"WHAT?!"

"Calm down, Mimi," Mark almost chuckled. "Not a lot. Just try to improve your driving skills, 'kay? No more coming to a stop in the middle of main roads."

Something cold dumped on my head—water?—and I hissed in pain, drawing a hand to my forehead. "Roger!" Mimi cried, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. "Are you okay? Can you hear me? Do you need a hospital? Oh, God, Roger! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—I just—I didn't know—"

"Mimi, calm down, I'm okay," I laughed, stroking her head. "As long as we've got Mark playing doctor, I'll be okay." He poured more water on my head lightly and I groaned. "Would you cut that out? I'm okay. It's not infected or anything, it's just a pressure cut or something."

Mark opened the door and stood outside, and soon I joined him, trying to calculate the damage of the car in my head. "Yeah, well, there's no way we're getting to your house," I said, looking under the hood. "Your front end is shit. We're gonna have to walk or hitch a ride, which I don't recommend." Mark and I looked at each other and laughed apprehensively.

"I'll just call up my dad and tell him to bring us there. There aren't any taxis or cabs down here, so he'll just have to drive us back, too."

No taxis or cabs? Jeez. "Don't tell me you guys are country bumpkins," I pleaded, looking at Mark, trying not to laugh.

Mark reached down and pulled a long piece of grass out of the ground, sticking it in his mouth and pulling up his pants to his waist. "See them cows over there? I got eighteen of 'em, 'r somethin'. I hadda get the cops in her', 'cause I can't even count that high! EIGHTEEN COWS, YA HER'?"

I couldn't help it, I had to laugh. His impression was on-point and perfect.

"_No, _we are _not _country bumpkins. At least we aren't city boys!" she defended, and she whipped out a bulky cell phone. "I'm calling my dad, and he'll drive us."

"Don't worry, Roger," Mark looked at me. "I'm fly. All the bitches love me, I'm pretty ghetto, hip, jam, the works." He popped the collar on the shirt beneath the sweater vest. "No need to worry, I'll be groovy, neat, nifty. I'm just peachy right now."

I almost died. I was so mortified. "Swell," I mocked him, but he didn't notice.

"It will be a smashing good time, dahling," he said in a British accent.

It took all of me not to kill him. Or myself.

The sound of Mimi snapping her phone shut filled the cold air. "Okay, he said he'd be here in, like, fifteen minutes."

The wait began. First it was okay, just small talk, but then Mark started going ADD on us, tapping his fingers and whistling impatiently, AKA driving me _insane. _"Mark!" I shouted finally, slamming his hand flat on the car, "Stop it!"

He stopped finally and it took a few minutes before a _really _nice car pulled up. "That's my dad," she breathed.

"Why doesn't he give you some of the money he seems to have?" I asked out of the side of my mouth.

"I don't think he likes me that much."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The car drove by and the window rolled down, and a large Hispanic man looked out. "Come on in," his thick Spanish accent flooded his speech.

Mark and I uncomfortably situated ourselves in the car, and the first thing that Mr. Marquez—Antonio—noticed was the unwelcomed guest with him and the pink thread connecting the two of us together. "Who is the white-skinned one? What is that silly thing between you two?" he asked.

_White-skinned one? _I almost wasn't sure which of us he meant, but I figured Mark, because he was so much whiter than I was. "That's Mark, my friend," I introduced. "Mark Cohen, meet Antonio Marquez."

"You can call me Mr. Marquez," Antonio followed gruffly, and Mimi slapped him.

"It's okay, Mimi," I reassured her. "My mistake, Mr. Marquez. I apologize."

"Answer my other question?"

"Oh," Mark lifted our cuff-cover up. "This? Our friend made this crazy bet that we had to be attached tonight, so he tied us together with a pink fabric."

Mr. Marquez looked at us with a peculiar glint in his eye, and then his eyes went back to the road. Finally, we made it to her house, and her mother answered the door. "Hello, Roger!" she cried, throwing her arms around my neck. Her Spanish accent was just as thick as her husband's, and the thing that was amazing was how much she looked like Mimi. _Identical._

"Mrs. Marquez," I greeted, accepting the hug. "I can see where Mimi gets her beautiful looks from!" I exclaimed, pulling back from her. She laughed, Mr. Marquez scoffed.

"Antonio, _ser agradable al muchacho. ¿Cuál es él que hace pero que habla de mi belleza? No ser celoso, estimado_," Mrs. Marquez glared at her husband.

Mr. Marquez laughed scornfully and stared his wife down."_No soy celoso. El muchacho es se besa-para arriba. Un pathetic_—"

"_¡El papá, lo para!_" Mimi intervened. Whatever he'd been saying hadn't been very nice. Looking over at Mark, who'd been very advanced in Spanish, I mentally asked him what was being exchanged.

"Mrs. Marquez likes you," he relayed in my ear. "Mister thinks you're a kiss-up and pathetic. Mimi told him to stop it."

When I looked up, Mr. Marquez was eyeing the two of us like we were keeping something from him. I could tell that this man was already starting to love my presence and my situation with his daughter.

Being attached to Mark is one thing. Being attached to Mark at my girlfriend's parents' house is another. Being attached to Mark is moderately annoying, but being attached to him at my girlfriend's parents' house is ultra-awkward.

Dinner was served and Mark sat side by side, both of us missing our food as we stabbed at it, because we were eating with opposite hands. The forks hitting the plates made the horrendous sound of claws on a chalkboard, and her parents' eyes on me felt like bullets to my head. I was sweating like a pig.

Mimi's dad was staring me down, like he thought I was hiding something. "So," he said, obviously preparing to grill us or something, "do you guys have any _gay _friends?"

I was going to answer something rational, but then Mark came in with, "Of course! We support gays. Our best friend, Collins, once dated a gay cross-dresser, but she died last year. And then my ex, Maureen, is dating a woman!"

Her Dad looked speculative and like he was about to puke up dinner, but her mother seemed accepting. Maybe looks weren't the only thing the two women had in common.

But still. Mark was crossing the line. I kicked him under the table.

"OW! Roger, why did you just kick me?"

Which made _everything _better.

Dinner continued to pass, mainly in a smooth manner, but then Mark started clamping his hands together (using the one we were cuffed together with) and started squeezing... making the one thing_ least _appropriate for dinner.

Two words.

Farting noises.

Swear to God, I wanted to kill him. "_Mark,_" I whispered out of the side of my mouth, trying to kick him again. "_Stop it!_" Then I finally kicked him, but when I looked across the table, Mr. Marquez was drilling a hole through the side of my face with his eyes.

Dinner finally ended, and Mimi and her mother did the dishes. Mimi told me I could go see her old room, so I went upstairs and walked into her bedroom, surprised by the large amounts of pink that met my eyes. "Wow," I stumbled backward. "A lot of pink. And black."

The two of us stumbled in, and I managed to knock over a folder full of papers.

When I bent down to pick the folder and papers up, Mark bent down to help me, but all of a sudden I jerked my hand too far and his face bashed into mine for a quick instant.

To my horror, Mr. Marquez walked in that room and that moment. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, trying to pull Mark and I back. All I wanted to do was wipe my face off from where his lips pressed against my cheek, but I was too frozen with fear. Mark, however, was disgusted, rubbing his free hand all over his mouth, as if to get my taste off of him.

_Blech. _

"I bent down to—"

"You're _gay!_"

"_WHAT?!_" Mark and I cried at the same time, both of us completely horrified at the thought.

"No we're not!" I squeaked.

"Don't lie to me!"

"Don't lie to me," Mark mocked in a baby voice, and I turned around to slap him as hard as I could.

"_Mark! _This is _not _time to be a completely and utter fucking _moron!_"

However, the time I was screaming at Mark allowed Mr. Marquez to notice the string of fabric between us. He tore off the fabric covering the handcuffs and his face went red with anger. "What's this?! Not only are you two gay, but you handcuff each other to the bedpost? I will not have my daughter hanging with such imposters! Roger Davis, you _cannot _and _will not _date my daughter, and that's final! Get out of my house!"

"Mr. Marquez—"

"_Get out!_"

Suddenly, Mimi came running into the room. "What's going on?"

Mr. Marquez was still clearly fuming but he turned around to speak calmly to his daughter. "Your boyfriend over here is two-timing you with his little friend over here! _Clearly, _they handcuffed each other together for sexual purposes!"

"No, Dad, their friend _dared _them to do something, and they lost, so they had to—"

"The white one is wearing a _sweater vest!_"

"So? Daddy—"

"They were _kissing _when I walked in!"

"Hook, line, and sinker," Mark muttered next to me.

I turned around and socked him.

The look on Mimi's face was so hurt that it tore my heart into a trillion pieces. Words left me and I walked towards her, reaching out. "Mimi, no, we weren't—" I didn't know what else to say so I stopped, bringing my hand to her face to wipe the tears that started to fall. "Mimi, I love you so much, we weren't—you know Mark and I aren't—you know it was for a—"

"Roger," her voice quivered and was very quiet, but I stopped talking instantly. I couldn't lose Mimi. I just couldn't afford it. "Roger, I... I don't know what to say."

_Say you love me, _I thought, _say it one last time. Please. I need to hear it before you break my heart._

"Mimi, please, don't—"

"You should've told me," she shook her head and let the tears fall from her eyes. "You should have told me, you bastard."

"Mimi—"

"Just leave!"

"Meems—"

"Roger—"

"Babe—"

"_Roger_—"

"Mimi—"

"_ROGER, we're DONE!_"

I froze. My heart stopped beating and I didn't move.

Suddenly I was moving, dizziness overcoming me. Then my body connected with the pavement, and Mark was pulling me back up, trying to talk to me, trying to get me to stand on my own, but I couldn't.

_Roger, we're done!_

_We're done!_

We're done.

..._Done?_

**A/N:** _Review!_

–_Steph._

Special thanks to HughesHanajimaHilariaHypocrite, who suggested two words: farting noises. :D Hahah, Mark.


	9. Blaze With Sweater Vests and Side Bangs

1**A/N:** Well, I'm back into the swing of things with this. Thank you SOOOO much to **OnEtHoUsAnDsWeEtKiSsEs** for listening to my suggestions! YOU ROCK!

Oh, and guess what movie I saw the other day. Crybaby. –dies– Funniest thing EVER! It's a "musical" with Johnny Depp and it is SOO overly-dramatic that we (me and my cousin Sara, fellow RENThead) were laughing at EVERYTHING. If you ever want a huge laugh, watch this movie. I didn't know that Johnny Depp could sing though... and he was SOOO cute. :)

Corniest thing: "Why, Crybaby, why?"

"THIS IS WHY!" –tears open shirt just as there's a violent clash of lightning to reveal a tattoo that is of the electric chair– "Both of my parents DIED by electricity"

And then another thing: "My mom couldn't even spell for Christ's sake and they fried her too!"

–dies–

Woot, watching the All Star game :)

9. A Mean Blaze With Sweater Vests and Side Bangs

"Thanks for nothing you—you—you... you _Benny!_" I shouted at the house after I got Roger to his feet. His body was leaning against mine, himself obviously drained of emotional strength, therefore making him lack in the physical department as well. The Marquez family uttered something back, probably Mimi trying to explain the insult of "a Benny" as I hauled Roger away.

Finally, Roger gathered his bearings and he started walking as far as he could in front of me, ambling along painfully. Sighing, I walked as well, trying not to kick rocks at the back of his feet as I walked. The pitch-black air shrouded us in a state of not speaking, a comfortable yet tense silence settling over us.

In front of me I could hear Roger crying to himself, and I know that he didn't want me anywhere near him. Instead I occupied myself with singing any random song that came to my mind. "Do you know the muffin man? The muffin man? The muffin man? Do you know the muffin man who lives on Dreary Lane?"

Then I discovered that I didn't know any more words to that, so I sighed and thought about something else to sing. "The long and winding road," I sang, motioning dramatically to the road that was anything _but_. And then once again I found that I didn't know any more of the words to it.

Something brilliant struck me and I grinned wide. "Very superstitious," I began, running up alongside Roger, "writings on the wall..."

You see, ever since we lived together in Scarsdale, that's officially been our jam. Whenever we want to go all random, or something relates to the song, we break into Superstition and start laughing. We'd had so much fun with that song, and whenever one of us starts singing it, the other against their own will joins in.

"Very superstitious... ladders 'bout to fall... thirteen-month-old baby, broke the lookin' glass... seven years of bad luck, the good things in your past." I then started walking backward, almost tripping every now and then, but still next to Rog. "When you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer!" I scolded, "Superstition ain't the way. Yea-yeah!" I did some sort of disco-era dance move, then tried to do the moonwalk but failed. I tried to get a smile out of Roger... but failed.

"Ooh, very superstitious, wash your face and hands. Rid me of the problem; do all that you can. Keep me in a daydream, keep me going strong. You don't want to save me, sad is my song. When you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer, superstition ain't the way."

I wailed, the night air and any windows near my vicinity shattering. "WAAAAAAHHHHHH-HAAAAA!" I even managed to do it without my voice cracking. Looking at his face, I saw Roger give a smidgen of a grin and he actually whooped out a laugh, but then he stopped, frowning his trademark frown.

"_VERY _superstitious, nothing more to say. Very superstitious, the devil's on his way!" I did a hand movement, making waves with each hand and arm, walking backward. "Thirteen-month-old baby, broke the lookin' glass! Seven years of bad luck, the good things in your past! Mmhm!"

Then I did a little spin and I urged him to sing with me, but he didn't. He was really mad at me.

"When you believe in things that you don't understand, then you suffer, superstition ain't the way!" I wagged my finger at him disapprovingly. "Naw, naw, naw!"

When I was finished I bowed, but Roger shoved me so I fell over and into a woman's collection of shrubbery. In his anger, he didn't realize that I'd fall with him, so he got stabbed by a few sticks and then he hauled himself up, brushing himself off. "Thanks for absolutely nothing, Mark," he mumbled.

"Hey!" I screeched, "What did _I _do?"

"Everything!" he retorted, steam practically pouring out of his ears.

"Name _one _thing!" I demanded, turning around to walk forward.

He didn't hesitate before giving me a list of things that I probably shouldn't have done. "The farting noises, announcing me kicking you, mocking her father—"

"Okay, okay, stop, stop!"

"—the whole _gay _spiel—" he continued, now listing things off of his fingers. His face was still all red from crying and there were track marks where tears made their way to his chin. Suddenly I was hit with a pang of guilt, but I still fought my own case.

"Hey, well, that was true!" I defended. "All of that really happened, and he asked us a question—"

"But was it seriously necessary?" He stopped walking and looked into my eyes.

"Um... yeah?"

He groaned frustratedly and started walking again. We'd been walking for a while and the walk home was going to take another few hours, and we were going to be fighting the whole time. "Mark, I give up," he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks again. "I just lost the love of my life, Mark. I can't lose another girl, really."

"Roger—"

"It's your fault! Were you trying to be funny? Really? Did you think you were hilarious?" he pressed, glaring at me. Hate was so inevitable in his eyes that I almost wanted to put my head down and go sit in the kitty corner for what I'd done wrong. "You were a complete idiot!"

"Yeah, well—" Nothing. I had no comeback.

"I don't feel like dealing with you right now," he whispered darkly, and then walked forward again, leaving me behind him to feel angry with myself.

_You screwed up, Cohen. That was your fault. You made Roger look like a dick in front of his girlfriend's parents. Probably one of the most important nights of his life. Good job. _

The walk home took about three hours, and when we got back to the loft, all I wanted to do was collapse on the couch and go to sleep, but Roger had different plans. He went directly for Collins' old "workshop" and exited with a saw, slamming our hands down to the table and going at the chain between the handcuffs.

Collins emerged from the bathroom, clad in a pair of pajama pants and a muscle shirt. "Hey, you guys are back," he noted, and I shot him a warning look and his gaze immediately went to Roger. "Roger, didn't we already try this?"

"Not hard enough," he grunted, putting all of his muscle into it. The force he was using almost made me think he was going to break his wrist in half or something.

"Where's Mimi?"

"Good question," Roger spat, coating his words in venom. "Why don't you ask wiseass?" He jerked his head to me and I looked down, once again guilty.

"Shit, Mark, what'd you do?"

"The real damage wasn't my fault," I defended. "We were in Mimi's room and Roger knocked over a folder, and I went down to happen, and long story short I ended up kissing his cheek—BY _ACCIDENT_—" at this point, Collins burst into a giant fit of laughter, but I ignored him, "—and her dad walked in at that exact moment—" louder laughter, "—and he called us gay because I was wearing a sweater vest—" enter tears, "—and he literally threw Roger out of the house."

Next to me, Roger was sawing harder, gritting his teeth together before finally letting out a cry of frustration and basically chucking the saw across the loft.

"A candle!" I suddenly cried, realizing something. Maybe they were real cuffs... but did that mean they weren't flammable? I had no fucking clue, but I figured it would work. Although Roger cringed at the world candle—I almost had to laugh at the irony of it all. "We could try to burn them apart!"

"Mark—" Collins tried to interfere, but I shushed him.

"Sh."

"You know that—"

"Shush!"

"They aren't—"

"I WILL SHOVE AN OYSTER DOWN YOUR THROAT," I shouted violently, turning to face him, "IF YOU DO NOT SHUT YOUR TRAP, UNDERSTAND, THOMAS?"

I fetched a candle merrily and lit it, ignoring Collins' smothered giggles. Then, I put the candle beneath the chain between the two cuffs, waiting for a long time as nothing happened.

Angrily, Roger jerked his hand back. "Mark, this is a waste of—"

The candle fell right on top of my new sweater vest, setting the shirt below it on fire. "Ahh, shit, Roger, I'm on fire!" I tried to pat it out with my other hand, but apparently this stupid shirt was extremely flammable, and just like that I was the Human Torch, the flames growing up my arms and my skin becoming charred.

Behind me, Collins was literally rolling on the ground and laughing his ass off. Well, not literally laughing his ass _off_, I'm pretty sure it was still there, but if that statement was literal, his ass would be in dire danger.

Roger reached forward to pat it out, but his own shirt was equally flammable, so in moments he was up in flames as well. "Collins, help us!" he cried out, crying out in pain as his hair became singed. He smothered it, the only damage done his bangs, which were now dangling in black strands, ready to break and fall away as ash.

His forehead was now covered in what looked like a third-degree burn, as was the rest of his clothing. It must've been quite a sight for Collins to see—the two of us jumping up and down like monkeys, literally ignited.

He was rendered motionless, still paralyzed by his laughter, so he couldn't help us. He kept leaning forward to try and help us, or he'd stand up, but then he'd fall right back down, his body failing to remain upright.

The two of us got the same idea at the same time, running toward the bathroom, aglow with flames. We got stuck in the doorway of the bathroom—we squirmed for a while, both trying to get in—before I stepped back and we struggled into the shower, him reaching to turn on the water.

Instantly, steam filled the air and I was cool, my exposed skin all of a sudden burning. Roger looked like he'd gotten the worst, surprisingly—apparently his "best clothing" was the most flammable he had. His entire top part looked like it had been covered in flames.

After we were through, we got out and resisted to towel ourselves off—we didn't want our burns to be irritated. All in all, the only bad burn was the one on my wrist and the one on Roger's forehead, the others would probably heal in at least a week.

"You light up a mean blaze—" I reminisced, hating the irony.

"With sweater vests," Roger grunted, trying to wring out his hair so it was on his badly burned forehead.

"And side bangs," I added, pointing to his hair.

Just to humor himself, he ran a finger through his bangs... and they fell to the ground and disintegrated. "Well, this night really couldn't get any worse," he concluded. He laughed helplessly at his misfortune.

And I did too.

Collins walked in. "Hey, guys," he started cracking up again, his eyes tearing, "can I use the bathroom? Swear to God, I must've pissed my pants like four thousand times."

Oh boy.

**A/N: ** Well, I'm in a _Cuffed _groove. I get into grooves with my stories, and I just happen to be in the groove of this story. I'm not, however, in my _Joker _groove. Not really in a _Ten Little Bohos _groove either.

Ahahaha, I just saw this commercial about deodorant and these like three or four guys were running away from wolves. So they go down this alley, and the guy raises his arms up high and bangs to lids to trash cans together, and apparently the wonderful smell of his deodorant radiates off of his skin, and he throws the cans and the wolves stop and eat them.

That's not the punchline. The punchline is that at the bottom of the screen it said "Do not attempt this."

_NO!_

REVIEW! OR I WILL SHOVE AN OYSTERS DOWN YOUR THROAT! XD

–Steph.


	10. Fuck You, Darling!

1**A/N**: Well, this basically owns. I'm no longer out of ideas for this story!

I'm honestly questioning my sanity after that chapter... many questions / comments about the oyster thing... don't even ask :)

And this is just a fun fact: did you know the word "croon" means to sing, hum, or speak in a _low, soft _voice? I thought crooning was like to belt something out. –shrug– Who knew?

Oh, forgot to credit **Cara** who suggested they try to melt the cuffs off with a candle :)

–**LANGUAGE ALERT–** Right after Mark's song, it'll let up.

10. Fuck You, Darling

I just kind of gave up after that.

After Mark's stupidity, after the whole shake down with the candle, after Collins pissing his pants, and then after me losing my faithful bangs, I think there was a point in there where I just... you know... stopped caring. My guitar was basically my main thing, and Mark would film as I did it, or he'd do his own thing. He respected the fact that I just wanted to sit around and play my guitar.

Sometimes he got frustrated, so I tried to play different songs instead of just Your Eyes and Musetta's Waltz. I even tried to pick out the chords of Superstition, and I did it.

But today I was particularly sad. Strumming the guitar, I belted out an old Beatles song. "Ooh, darling! Please believe me! I'll do you no harm. Believe me when I tell you I'll never do you no harm! Ooh, darling! If you leave me, I'll never make it alone! Believe me when I beg you—woooooh!" I wailed this. "Don't ever leave me alone!"

Then I burst into the next verse, Mark filming the whole thing. This verse was a little more... erm... hardcore, so I used my hardcore rocker screaming voice. "_When you told me you didn't need me anymore! Oh, well, you know, I nearly broke down and cried!_" I trailed off the note like it was a blue's song."_When you told me you didn't need me anymore! Oh, well, you know, I nearly broke down and died!_"

"Ooh, darling! If you leave me, I'll never _maaaake _it alone! Believe me when I tell you I'll never do you no harm!" My breath hitched on the last word, tears making their way to my eyes. "Believe me, darlin'!" I added.

"_When you told me—_" I screamed in my rocker voice again, but now my tears were actually falling.

"Roger!" Mark cut me off, slamming my hand down on the strings so I could no longer play them. "What are you _doing _to yourself? You hate her! You hate her for doing this to you! You totally, completely hate her!" he jumped up and I just barely remained seated.

"No, I don't," I sobbed right over Mark's pleas of hysteria, "I still love her, I love her for doing it to me, I still love her."

"You crazy bastard! No you don't! You don't love her! You hate her!"

Then he stood up, grabbed my guitar, and just started strumming random notes. "Improv! Write your own song. Look, it's easy: Fuck you, darling! You suck gonads! This is true, you cow. Believe me when I tell you, the gonads you suck are foul!" Then he jumped on top of the couch, dragging me forward a bit.

I realized that I could potentially be getting this on film, so I picked up his camera (which he had been filming with, and was still on, picking up the audio but not the video) and started filming this wonderful fiasco. "When you told me we were over and done! Oh, well, you know, I figured you were a dyke! Now if I see you, walking down the street, I'm going to point and laugh till I cry..." he faked crying and then jumped back onto the floor, going to his knees, still striking ugly chords on the guitar.

"Fuck you, darling! You're a shithead! You are a cunt fuck mofo. Believe me when I tell you, that you should go die in a hole." Nodding, he came right up to the lens of the camera. "Fuck you, darling! Eat an oyster! I hope get diagnosed with cancer! Believe me when I tell you, you are a stripper—not a 'dancer.' When you told me we were—"

"I love her!" I interrupted, shaking my head at his lame attempt. "And don't insult her like that! Man, no matter what she did to me, don't insult her like that!"

"You hate her!"

"I love her!"

"You hate her!"

"I love her!"

"You hate her!"

"I love—"

"Collins!"

"You love _Collins?_" Mark asked incredulously, and then there was laughter. Turning around, Collins was behind me. "Jesus, Collins, you do a lean, mean Roger impression." And then Collins was laughing his ass off.

Frustrated, Mark growled evilly and ran to the fridge, dragging me with him, and returned with something in his hand. Then, he walked right over to Collins, pried his mouth open, and crammed something down our best friend's esophagus.

"_I will shove an oyster down your throat if you don't shut your trap, understand, Thomas?"_

And then I was laughing. Crying. I fell to the floor in a heap, staring and pointing at the choking Collins, who ran to the bathroom and then dry heaved until the oyster finally came out of his throat. Mark looked more angry than anything, but his face was also mixed with regret, and a twinge of hilarity.

But I was cracking up. "Oh, my God," I stood up and dusted myself off. "That was great."

"I'm telling you, man, you hate her," Mark sighed, grabbing the camera from me and sitting down, going back to me to film.

"No, I fucking don't!"

"Well she hates you."

_Ouch. _"Gee, thanks, Mark."

Then Collins emerged from the bathroom, still coughing a bit. "Man, you two sound like a married couple."

Then the door was flying open, revealing the one, the only, Maureen Johnson. "Hello, friends!" We grumbled varying forms of greeting and she sat down. "What's new with my boys? How're you two holding—_gah, _Roger, what happened to your _hair?_"

"_Mark _happened to my hair."

She made an apologetic face, a wince, and then stood up. "I'm hungry. Be right back," and she fled to the kitchen.

Moments later she returned, her arms full of... oysters? Then she started chucking them at us, clunking off of our skulls like bouncy balls. I dove to the floor, Mark coming down involuntarily with me, his camera still in his hands. "This is all happening live, brought to you via Mark TV!" he narrated, popping up a bit but then falling back to the floor as an oyster flew dangerously close to his ear.

"Dude!" he shouted, breathing hard, "I was that close to being deaf and dead!"

I could see it now. 'Albino freak half of Dynamic Duo loses sense of hearing after fatal oyster incident. Hours later he was dead on the operating table from an oyster that penetrated his fibula, causing him to keel over and then vomit several times. The Oyster Offender, his ex-lover Maureen Johnson—'

"Roger! This is not the time to be deep in thought!" Mark whispered sharply to me, and then he jumped up and made a gab for the fridge.

I came with him (heh, what was I going to do, wait until he came back?) and each of us grabbed about twenty oysters, running behind Maureen and pelting her with them. The two of us trapped her between our bodies and rubbed the oysters all over her face before she finally escaped, smelling strongly of oceanic bivalves (and that's not really a compliment).

"CURSE YOOOOOOU!" she cried dramatically, and then there was a loud knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Collins called in a sing-song voice.

"Joanne."

"FUCK!" I shouted, but Mark clamped a hand over my mouth, so it came out as "FOO—" Which was kind of odd... it made me sound like I was about to say fook.

"—d!" Collins finished loudly, completing the word "food." "The food in the fridge!" And he stumbled off, leaving us responsible for disposing of ourselves. Mark and I looked at each other crazily, and Maureen looked at us pleadingly. Sighing, I walked in the direction of our bedroom, but Mark had other plans.

Oh, shit, did I just say _our _bedroom? I don't think we're ever getting out of this.

"No, she'll look for us in there, or we'll trip over something or—the closet!" And before I could protest, he dove into the closet, Maureen closing it and locking it behind us (apparently this closet had an unknown lock on the outside that I was _not _aware of. In my mind I thought of how many sexual things Mimi and I could do with this new fact, and I grinned to myself).

I did _not _grin to myself when I found I was in a closet full of clothes hangers.

"_AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_" I screamed bloody murder, and not even Mark's hand could stop that.

**A/N: **Oh, man. If any of you guys' parents have the Beatles' CD of "Abbey Road," or even have LimeWire / other software like that, download the song "Oh, Darling" and just try to picture Roger singing it... I almost died doing so :)

Hahahaha. What dorks these guys are.

Thanks for all the reviews... six more and then we reach 100!

–Steph.

BTW: I just officially quit the Maximum Ride board, so that means no more distractions there! For those of you who have me on your fav authors / author alert, the story "Memory" was my old MR story, so don't worry, I'm not going to be posting MR anymore... just RENT :)


	11. The Clothes Hangers Have Eyes

1**A/N:** HERE WE GO AGAIN!

Oh, and by the way. **Mark'sMaureen** is basically amazing and you should READ HER STORY**"That Face"** because it is AMAZING and she ROCKS. :) You will do the two of us a favor if you read it, because it's basically amazing. She AND the story are on my faves.

11. The Clothes Hangers Have Eyes

When covering Roger's mouth wouldn't do the job, I pinched his arm until he hissed in pain and squeezed his eyes shut. "Mark, make them go away," he whispered to me, starting to shake. "Make them go away," a little louder this time. "MAKE THEM GO—"

That was it. We couldn't be revealed. Grabbing a shoe, I smacked Roger in the head as hard as I could, and then he slumped against the door, unmoving. For a long time, I held my breath, but then someone was diving in on top of us. I pulled the two of us to the other door of the closet, deep in from the door we actually use.

Collins looked at me in the barely-there light and put a finger to his lips. He sat up against the door, and then screamed, "MAKE THEM GO AWAY!" in a voice that sounded incredibly much so like Roger's. I was about to yell at him, ask him what the _fuck _he was doing, but then he threw a coat at Roger and I, covering me and most of Roger, who was slumped up against the other door.

Then the loft door slid open, and Maureen was saying, "Pookie! Hey!" and there was a kissing noise.

"Hey, Maureen, just figured I'd stop by... where're Roger and Mark?"

"I don't know, they weren't here when I got here," she lied smoothly.

"Then why was Roger just screaming in the closet...?" Joanne asked suspiciously, coming toward the closet and then flinging the door open. "Oh, hey, Collins... is Roger there in you?"

"Me and Maureen were playing hide and seek," he supplied. "I was doing my Roger impression. Make them go away!" he cried in Roger's voice, and his imitation was uncannily on-point. How long had he been practicing that thing? "It takes skill to sound like a white guy," he chuckled, and stood up and then exited the closet. The door slid shut and then the light was gone, just like that.

I moved myself so I was next to Roger's knocked out form, putting an ear to the door, listening on the conversation. "Who knows where they went?" Collins asked, pouring drinks (it sounded like) for the girls. "When there are two horny, attached, bored men, who knows what they're gonna do when they have free time?"

The girls laughed and Collins did as well. "Yeah, did you know that Mimi broke up with Roger?"

Joanne choked on her drink and I think Maureen spit hers out, both of them asking, "What?!" in disbelieving voices.

"Yeah," and then he retold the story of that fateful night. I listened to it painfully, wincing at times. "

Suddenly, Roger was rousing next to me, and then he sat up a bit, blinking vigorously, obviously very confused as to where he was at the moment. "What—" he began, but I cut him off with my hand, and went to pick up my Loyal Loafer... but instead picked up a stiletto heel (April's old one? Mimi's?) and grinned evilly.

I whacked him off the head with the heel and his head rested once again lightly on the door. Holding my breath, I waited for someone to move, and I heard Joanne utter half a syllable before Collins chimed in with, "That stupid Roger doll in the closet!"

_Roger doll? _My mind rushed, trying to think of something to do with us before Joanne came over to look for us. "You have a Roger doll in the closet?" she asked, her tone serious and barely even a question.

"It's just a prototype."

_Smooth, Collins._

But the girls laughed and seemed to let it go for the most part, though I had a feeling that Joanne didn't exactly believe it all the way. "Hey, babe?" Maureen groaned, looking at Joanne. "It's my time of the month, and I don't feel good... can we go home?" The drama queen she is and always will be, yep, that's Maureen. I almost expected her to be like, "Pwease?" in a little girl voice, but she didn't, and Joanne agreed.

Quietly, I slid the door to the closet open stepped out and pulled Roger with me, and then closed the door. Then, I pressed my body to the closed door and pulled Roger's back along with me, grinning to myself. Between the two large doors of the closet, there's this huge bookshelf that's loaded with books. Therefore, if we were at the right angle against the door, Joanne wouldn't see us.

Joanne slid the other door open, and then once she was done, closed it, and the two of them left.

Once they were gone, I jumped up, growling so loud that Roger woke up and stood up beside me, holding his head and swaying slightly.

"'That stupid Roger doll in the closet?' What were you _thinking_, Collins? That's the _least _inconspicuous thing you could've thought of! You could've said you had a talking monkey in your closet, or there's a zebra juggling Play-Doh, or there's a naked Hungarian in your closet, or there's a thousand firefighters in your closet—!"

"That's way too many firefighters," Collins muttered.

"Wait, what?" Roger asked, shaking his head, his eyelids only half open. He was obviously dizzy. "I have a feeling I missed something."

"Jesus, if it wasn't for my fast thinking, Joanne would've found us and—badda bing!—the end!" I shouted, throwing my hands in the air and starting to walk toward Collins.

"Woah, woah, woah," Roger stood in between us, "What fucking memo did I miss? A _Roger _doll? Huh?"

"I hit you off the head with a loafer, so you didn't see any of it."

"Oh, okay, thanks, that clarifies _everything!_" Roger shouted, not pleased with the evasive response I gave him. "Someone has a _doll _of me? What the _fuck? _Please, I feel _so _out of the loop, I think my head is bleeding—what the fuck did you hit me with, Mark, a stiletto?"

"He _told _you, a _loafer_—" Collins sounded aggravated.

"No, a stiletto too."

"Whatever!"

Suddenly, the loft door was sliding open again, revealing Maureen, taking in deep breaths. "Whew. Pookie left for work all night, and then I had to run here before she drove past here or something," she leaned against the counter, still breathing hard.

None of us said anything. "You could've have just waited until she left?" Collins giggled.

Silence again. Collins left to go get something to eat, leaving Maureen, Roger and I.

"Man, it's tense in here," Maureen commented, studying Roger and I, who were about to bite the other's head off if one of us made a single move. "I know!" she perked up, walking over to us, "Let's just have an orgy right here and now!"

"I've got the Stoli!" Collins called from the kitchen, emitting a loud, long laugh.

"Yeah, just masturbate to the Roger doll and you're all set!"

"_WHAT ROGER DOLL?_"

"We could name him Gerry!" Maureen decided, going into the closet. "Gerry, like, you know, _Ger _from _Roger _and then add the _y!_ Yeah, Gerry the doll!" she picked through the closet, throwing various things over her shoulder. A basketball hit me in the nose (it _hurt!_) and—what do you know—a clothes hanger went flying through the air and landed right around Roger's neck.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He threw it off of him and began a rampage around the loft before stopping and staring at it, a quivering finger pointing toward it. "OH MY GOOOOOD!"

"Roger!" Collins shouted, standing in front of him. "Roger, Roger, dude—are you _ever _gonna tell us what's up with that weird fear?"

Sighing, Roger sat down on the couch and I sat with him, _trying _to wrap an arm around his shoulder but then finally deciding that, yes, it was impossible to do so when we were handcuffed together. "Okay. Fine. So this one night I had a dream," he paused and eyeballed Maureen, making sure she wouldn't say anything, "about clothes hangers.

"And _then_," he added animatedly, "the next night I was sitting up in bed, and this really scary movie thing show came on... it was called... _Closet Bunnies_," he shivered very visibly and violently. Next to me, Collins tried to smother his laughter. "And what happened was all these bunnies lived in a closet... and then, the clothes hangers—they had eyes! _EYES! _THE CLOTHES HANGERS HAVE EYES!"

"Roger! Calm down!"

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"I don't know. Should I call nine-one-one?"

"Hold on, he's stable."

"ROGER!"

"Eyes..." he trailed off, dazed, "and then they came down... and..." his voice was so quiet that we all had to lean in to hear him. "BOOOMCHHHHHHHQUUUAAAAACK!" he shouted, making the three of us nearly jump out of our skin. _Boomchquack? _I asked myself, but decided to let it slide. "All of the bunnies were... they were dead!" He shook his head, tears coming to his eyes. "Ever since then... the clothes hangers..."

He looked right at the three of us, his eyes almost bloodshot from being opened so wide. "They have eyes."

There was silence for a bit, but then Collins started cracking up, rolling on the ground in almost pain, tears streaming from his eyes. "Holy shit, Roger, you belong on the fucking funny farm! Ahhhh!"

Suddenly, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and Maureen was behind him, picking something up from the ground and then tossing it up and down. _An oyster_. And then I was laughing too.

But Roger wasn't. "The clothes hangers have eyes..." he muttered darkly, and then he closed his eyes.

**A/N: **Hahahahahaha. I love tormenting Roger :) Closet Bunnies? Yeah, well, if there's a scary movie thing show out there called _Closet Bunnies_, then you all should know that I SHOULD own it because it's basically a torment Roger world out there.

I admit to stealing a bit from Dane Cook here... the "a thousand fire fighters" thing and then "that's way too many firefighters" is his work, I don't own it. It's from his CD "Retaliation Pt. 1", if you picked up on that, I love you for liking Dane Cook :) "'Oh my God, Dane, there was this fire down the street, there were like a _thousand _firefighters out there." "No there were _not! _That's _way _too many firefighters! They'd all be bumping into eachother like 'What the _fuck _are we doing out here? I think there's a thousand of us. If I had to guesstimate, I would say that there is a _thousand _of _us._.. is anybody on the _hoses_?"

Oh, yeah, and the monkey thing. That was Dane Cook too. "Monkey?" "I'm in your closet!" "Holy shit, you can talk!" "I know, I taught myself how!" "Oh... okay."

I also wanted to point out the similarities between this story and my real life. I was telling **missxflawless** that this story really reflects my life. I mean, the oyster thing? Yeah, that happened. I warned a friend that I'd shove an oyster down her throat if she didn't do something, and I threw oysters at my friends and they were just kind of like "...Steph... no."

Which was why I almost didn't want to post this story. I was afraid you guys wouldn't accept my humor. All of this stupid stuff... it comes right from my brain, and the way you guys are responding it, I might actually have a future career as a comedian :)

But I'd rather not. I want to be on Broadway... I actually want to be Maureen on Broadway XD

On a completely different topic. My friend is moving to Mississippi and I was telling her how different it would be there. And she was like "Well, that's the stereotype... the stereotype for MA (where I live) is GAYS.

I thought that was hilarious. I didn't know that! So anyone want to voice your stereotype for your state? Go for it, I'd love to hear them :)

I responded to my friend by saying, "I'm going to email random people in different states and ask them if their refriger-GAY-tor is running."

BY THE BY. I added a picture of meself on my profile under "Steph Section YEAHYEAH YEAH WOOT WOOT" ahhaha. :)

And now I've rambled.

REVIEW!

–Steph.


	12. Duckies!

1**A/N:** Man, you guys should be worshiping me right about now. I'm really getting into this story.

Oh, by the way, this is OFFICIALLY MY LONGEST STORY! XD YAY! I'm aiming for somewhere between 15-20 chapters for this... unless, you know, you guys give me thousands of suggestions. Because this isn't going to go anywhere if you guys say "Oh, I'm not in a creative mood" or "Oh I have nothing" or "oh my idea was stupid".

If you're not reading **"That Face"**, I officially hate you :) Naw, kidding, but you really should read it.

12. Duckies!

The next night was particularly uneventful. Collins eventually woke up and staggered to his room, complaining about a headache. Maureen left, leaving just Mark and I, who were very tired from our whole fiasco. We made it through the night without me having a nightmare as I usually do after close encounters with the closet kind... stupid fucking coat hangers.

The next morning, we were up rather early, and Mark made a suggestion. "Roger, why don't we go down to Central Park? We haven't been outside in a while, it'll be nice to go outside, you know, greet the world as Roger and Mark—the conjoined freaks."

I groaned through a mouthful of cereal. "C'mon, Mark, people are going to stare at us!"

"Roger. Look at who _we _hang out with. Oh, yes, transvestites, lesbian lawyers, gay, stoned anarchists, rocker ex-junkies, slackers who don't adhere to deals, yuppie scums, and bisexual drama queens across the state will be staring at a couple of people who happen to be _handcuffed_."

Grumbling, I nodded, understanding what he was saying yet still not wanting to respond to him in any positive way. "Okay, okay, I get your point. But still—_sunlight!_" I cringed at the very thought of tans and sunburns and sunglasses—oh, the agony!

"_Ro_ger! Come on!"

And he managed to drag me out of the house. We walked down the streets, him with his head held high, and then me, who was less than ecstatic to be walking down the street attached to some stupid albino freak who, frankly, was looking healthier than I was at this point. Mimi had still yet to contact me... and she lived _downstairs. _I was _bound _to see her _sometime._

This thought was upon my mind and Mark studied me like he knew something I didn't know. Which was quite frightening. "What?" I fidgeted under his gaze, suddenly getting the feeling that he just liked to watch me squirm, which was quite frightening as well. "Why are you lookin' at me like that? Cut it out!"

"_OH_, n_oth_ing," Mark waved it off and started—get _this_—_skipping_. I groaned and dragged him back, then crying out as the sun hit me in the face.

"AHH!" I ducked downward as something went soaring by my face. "What was _that?!_" I asked, suddenly very jumpy and terrified.

"Roger, that was a fruit fly," Mark told me, trying to calm me down.

"AHH!" I ducked again. "What the hell was _that?!_"

"A hummingbird," Mark informed, sounding a little agitated. "Roger, chill out, the world isn't—"

_ZZT_. "OW!" A strikingly painful electric shock coursed up my arm and I screamed, dropping to the ground, holding my arm as if it was going to fall off. All of my senses were ignited as I hit the ground and my head cracked against the concrete. "AHH!" I rubbed my arm tenderly and people started surrounding me, Mark dropped to his knees.

"Should I call nine-one-one?"

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, shit, Roger!" that was Mark, next to me, looking into my eyes, very concerned. "Shit, Rog, what happened?" his voice was all panicked and what not, and he pushed the other people back so he could get close. In the background, someone shouted, "Hold the ambulance, he's conscious!"

"I—" I began, but my voice was scratchy, and I felt myself swimming _through_ consciousness.

"What?"

"I—"

"WHAT?!"

"Stung by a bee," I croaked out, and then turned to the side and coughed. For some reason, the crowd sighed angrily, as if they'd wished I was about to die. "Mark—a bee—he _stuuuuuuuuung _me!"

Then_ he _sighed angrily and started walking away, making _me _stand up all by myself after I'd just been _stung by a bee!_ I concluded that he was a bitch and must be PMSing or something. After he pulled me to my feet involuntarily, I caught up with him, rubbing my sore arm as best I could.

"Let's just go to the park," he breathed, "and get there all in once piece."

"OOOOkay!" I cried, trying to be chipper as the sun burnt my face yet again.

We arrived at the park a few minutes later, and Mark immediately pulled out his camera and started filming shrubbery and some random robins in the air. While standing next to him and whistling, I discovered where the real action at hand was. "Mark!" I whispered excitedly, pointing to the pond, "Oh, my God, Mark, look!"

"What, Roger?" he asked, sort of annoyed.

"Mark, look, duckies!"

This got his attention. He turned his head and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Duckies?" and then he saw them, flocking together and doing their swim thing, kicking their cute little feet in the water. "Roger, those are geese," he corrected. "See the beak and the feathers—"

"I don't _care _what they are," I told him, "I just think they're cool. Let's go throw things at them!" I dragged him with me down to the lake, ignoring what he was saying.

"Roger, they'll attack you! Cindy got attacked by one once—it nearly bit her ear off—it'll kill us!—Roger, don't throw a rock at it!"

But I did anyway. I picked up a handful of rocks and threw it at the stupid bird, making sure to miss the little baby one (because it was so cute). But then, by accident, one of the rocks went fuckin' rouge and hit the little baby duck in the head, making the father duck very very pissed off.

"Roger!" Mark shouted, terrified, and then he went to turn and run. I stayed put—I was frozen with fear. Damned goose.

Yanking my hand, the two of us went running forward, the goose close—too close—on our heels. We ran in circles crazily. "YOU STUPID GOOSE!" I shouted at it, throwing some rocks I still had in my hand at its cursed face. "I hate you!" I went to kick it in the face and it lunged out and snapped its beak down on my foot.

I tripped over the freaking poultry, landing face first, Mark not far in front of me. Then he grabbed onto my hair, pulling it mercilessly as I started crying. "STOP IT! STOP IT! I LOVE MY HAIR!" and it finally did stop, moving to my face, biting it evilly. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" I tried to push it away but it grabbed my finger, breaking the skin on it.

Mark staggered to his feet, pulling me with him, my finger being raked out of the goose's mouth. Then we were running away from the blasted animal, me bleeding all over, Mark giggling yet sorta concerned.

An adventure for sure.

**A/N**: Ducks and Geese XD

I've started a forum! Please join, it's all about RENT, and there are also separate sections! PLEASE!

http// xsteponmex . proboards 81 . com

Remove the spaces!

Just for clarification—for those of you reading TLB, this has nothing to do with the story and how the next chapter happens to be "Sting."

Also, I have never been stung by a bee, and I tried to over-dramatize it :)

I HAVE AN IMPORTANT QUESTION! Is there a RENT book BESIDES "Without You" out there? One that has a quote about Taye Diggs saying "Holy cow who's the smiley blond kid?" about Adam? I saw quotes about it in a couple of places and I was flipping out trying to figure out where it was.

**ANYBODY?**

Sorry this chap seemed sorta rushed, I REALLY wanted this posted.

REVIEW!

–Steph.


	13. To The Melons

1**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews!

13. To The Melons

The walk back to the loft was terrifying on my part. Between being afraid that the fucking goose was gonna come and attack us again, or that Roger's bleeding hand was gonna get in one of my cuts, or the fact that maybe he'll trip over a twig and have an aneurysm, forcing me to miss my show that was on in another half hour.

Roger did some sort of sliding thing as we walked home, I just shoved my hands in my pockets and pushed my chin into my scarf, stopping it's violent flapping in the wind. Suddenly, Roger's skipping came to an abrupt stop and he was sulking, dragging his feet. "Something in the way she moves..."

I sighed. "Do I have to write a parody to _every Beatles song _that you relate to... that weird, freaking stripper chick who doesn't deserve your love?" I tried to get by her name and come up with something that would make him feel better.

When we got to the loft he'd feel _juuuuust _fine.

So, we arrived at the loft hassle-free, and when we busted through the door, Roger made a beeline for the couch, but then he realized who was talking with Collins. It was Mimi. She flung herself in Roger's direction, flying through the air like a fuckin' bird, and then landed in his arms.

"_¡Roger, bebé, oh, Santa María, te falté tanto, yo estoy tan apesadumbrado!"_ she cried, wrapping her arms around Roger's neck. He looked dumbstruck, like who are you, why are you hugging me and why don't you hate me? But then he got into the groove, like, oh, okay, I've hugged you before, I still love you, and all of that funky jazz.

I kinda stood there awkwardly. "Um... yeah. El Surprise... -o?"

When they pulled apart, Mimi placed a kiss on Roger's lips (WHY WON'T ANYONE KISS _ME _LIKE THAT? No fair!) and Roger voiced his own opinion. "I thought you... why are you... I thought it was... what about..." he gulped and pointed between the two of us. "Gay?"

She giggled. "Well, Collins got me down here to talk, and he pretty much convinced me that you weren't gay. He talked about how Mark had been terrified of him after he came out, afraid to even touch him. Mark, I didn't know you were an ex-homophobe!" and she laughed again, making me turn bright red.

"And then he said how Roger was just kind of like, 'Oh, okay... that's cool. I just never thought of guys that way,'—props to you, Roger!—and how whenever he mentioned that a guy was attractive Roger would screw up his face. And he banged a lot of girls too," she snickered. "_That _I can believe." Then she walked over to me and gave me a hug. "So I concluded that my dad was crazy and it was just a coincidence—which you _will _be explaining later.

"Then, I was like, 'Collins, he probably _hates _me for doing that to him.' And Collins was like, 'That's exactly why we wanted you here. Mark made this video of him trying to get Roger to be mad, sorta like reverse-psychology, and he made it _just _so you could see it, and he got Roger out of the house and asked me to show it to you, and... well, just watch.' And I did. And I was very, very happy that you would stand up for me like that, Rog." She gave Roger another hug and another kiss.

"Do you guys have _no _food in this house?" Collins roared from the kitchen, and I didn't even know he'd gone there, honestly. Sighing, I started walking in the direction of kitchen to help him locate the food.

"Waaaaait a minute," Mimi pulled me back and studied the two of us direly. "Why are you two still handcuffed... if it was only a bet?"

At that exact moment Collins stumbled into the living room, a chicken leg hanging out of his bulging cheeks. He mumbled something incoherent, putting his hands up in defense, and the he booked it out of the room and into the kitchen once more.

Roger sighed. "Okay. I'll tell you the truth." And he did. The whole thing. The laughs, the tears, the show tunes, everything. Mimi laughed, she frowned, she cringed, but mostly she just flat out cracked up. In the end, she gave Roger a huge kiss and promised she wouldn't tell a soul, and I trusted her on that.

"Well, I'm off to work," Mimi kissed Roger again and pulled on her jacket. "I'll swing by when I get back though, okay?" she gave me another brief hug and left the building, giggling to herself.

"She's got the giggles," I noticed.

"Yes." Roger nodded in agreement.

"You two are going shopping, _now!_" Collins called. "I'm _trying _to make my world-famous Platter El Fruito, but I only have enough to make half! You make half, and then you put whipped cream, and then you put the other half! You guys have cantaloupe, apples, pears, mangos, and oranges... but you don't have enough oranges, mangos, or pears to do the top half, _and _you don't have melon or watermelon!"

When he emerged from the kitchen he had a particularly poofy white hat on top of his head, clashing with his skin tone vibrantly. It was also quite a change from his beanie that he _still _had atop his head, only beneath the poofy chef's hat.

"Fine," I groaned. "Roger, let's go." And the two of us walked out of the loft, glumly awaiting our doom at—dare I say it—Stop and Shop.

— —

Collins was just done making the first half of Platter El Fruito when the phone rang. He hoped it was Mark and Roger, calling to say they'd gotten all the ingredients, but he was just as pleased with this message.

"_Speeeeeaaaaak." _

"Hey, guys, it's Maureen! Just so you know, Pookie's out and about, I think she's going to the store, so lay low for a little while."

Collins grinned. This was gonna be great.

— —

"I still don't understand why you won't let me sit there."

The walk to the local Stop and Shop had been painful. Roger was dodging everything in sight, including the drainage squares (what are those things called?) around every single corner of Alphabet City. Frankly, it scared me, because it's not like we're known to flash flood on a daily basis, what the fuck was with all these _drainage squares_, but we made it there safely and in one piece.

Now Roger wanted to sit in the little baby seat at the front of the carriage, either that or the large cart part of it. "Roger, you're a grown fucking _man_," I seethed, "you are _not _going to fit in the baby seat _nor _the actual carriage part. Walk like a big boy, okay? We're here to get melons and pears and—"

To my horror, he started _bouncing. _Bouncing on his heels, chorusing, "Melons and pears, melons and pears, we're at Stoooooooop and Shop to get melons and pears, melons and pears." Apparently he was in a song writing mood. "Oranges and mangos!" Then he gasped very animatedly and skipped to the mango isle.

After we got to the mango isle, he basically had a kniption because of the mangos. He picked up two. "IIIII should find a tree all covered in mangos, juicy mangos, fat, and well fed!" he sang in a tenor falsetto. I had to withhold my laughter. "Pick a mango. A juicy mango," he went down for juicy mango, "a lovely mango," he went way up high, higher than I'd ever heard him, "a poison mango," he went way down low this time, once again, lower than I'd ever heard him. "Drop the—"

"Roger!" I hissed.

"Drop the Roger? That's not how it—"

I smacked my forehead. "No, you dipshit, that _means _shut _up_, you sound like an idiot!"

"So what if I _sound like an idiot?_" he mocked me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something. A flicker of a person.

Oh, shit, it was _Joanne._

"ROGER!" my eyes darted around crazily, searching for something. "The melons!" I pointed frantically for the _huuuuge_ cardboard box where all the watermelons were. "Roger, the melons! Get down in the melons!" there weren't many in the box, and I figured he'd be able to hide in there. I'd just make it look like I was looking for one...

"To the melons!" he cried, pointing and singlely tangoing his way toward the box, where he dove in very animatedly. When he was in there, I threw some pears and apples and large melons at him, hopefully covering his six foot muscular frame.

"Now don't move!"

And then Joanne was right next to me, a cart along with her. "Hey, Mark," she greeted warmly, smiling in my direction.

"Hey, Joanne."

"Psst, _Maaaark._" Roger whispered from the box.

"What's that?" Joanne asked, leaning around my body to look.

"Nothing!" I covered, moving with her and subtly kicking the box. "There's this kid over there who thinks he knows me, it's kind of sketchy. I'm just trying to pick out some pears over here, and this stupid kid is stalking me!" I realized that my voice had gradually climbed an octave as I spoke, which was totally inconspicuous.

"Right." Joanne nodded, kind of confused.

"Well, I'm just going to get a watermelon."

_Shit._

**A/N**: Thanks to OnEtHoUsAnDsWeEtKiSsEs for recommending the whole grocery store idea :) She's pretty effing sweet.

Do you love how I said "carriage" instead of shopping cart? Yeah, I'm from MA, couldja tell?

I referred to "Once on This Island" in here with the mango sequence, a play I starred in! It came out during 1990, so it works!

I might not be able to update all of my stories for a while... guys my life just went fucking sour. My dad... ugh, is just... being my dad, being a bastard. My mom is on his side and is calling my friends to get them to hang out with me. My friend is dating my ex / first love / heartbreaker.

I'm going insane, I can't deal with all of this right now. So I'll try my best.

–Steph.


	14. Au Naturel

1**A/N:** Well, as I type this, my two best friends (except for Sara) Samm (sound familiar, TLB readers? XD) and AJ are watching some sketchy movie that I've already seen (The Exorcism of Emily Rose) and although I LOVE scary movies (sarcasm) I think I LOVE RENT a little bit more.

I mean, for example: last night we were watching 28 Days. Basically, that got boring as shit and REALLY scary on my part, so I was like, "You know what? Why don't we shut this off and watch something else!!!" and guess what I put in?

RENT. I carry the DVD with me. Always. XD Anyway, on with ze story!

14. _Au Naturel_

Never before had I had such close contact with melons.

Like, you know, I had melons in places there _aren't _supposed to be melons. There were pears and apples and oranges and so many varieties that I was starting to get claustrophobic, and I _really _had to pee really bad. "Psst, _Maaaark._" I whispered, trying to get his attention. He muttered something and then he kicked the box, rattling my body and—you guessed it—my bladder.

Then I felt something wet on my leg and top half and I was worried that I'd peed my pants, and then I realized that there was a rotten melon floating around in there! I instantly jumped a mile, but then I realized Mark was doing something important so I should probably stay still. Then... someone had their _hand _in the _box_.

Frankly, it tickled. I giggled for a moment and wiggled out of the hand's way, and I saw them reaching for a watermelon. Ever so carefully I placed in their hand, and then the melon was out of the box and my head was exposed.

Shit! My wavy blond whorls of hair were now exposed—ahhh!

Mark noticed and, in the nicest way possible, basically told Joanne to _get the fuck out of here, I don't want you here_. And just like that, she was gone, and I was free from my fruity prison.

Gasping for breath, I jumped out of the stupid cardboard box and rolled across the floor, melon smearing all over my face. "Ahh, shit, I smell like an assorted fruit basket!" I stopped rolling, looking up at Mark. Suddenly, everything that had just happened in the past, what, five minutes, came back to me.

What had just happened from a shoppers point of view: some crazy freak sang to a couple mangos, and then he dove into the melons and was covered with fruit, and then he rolled out and looked up at the sky, gasping for breath as his albino friend observed calmly, while the rest of the store continued to do its thing, the elevator music still playing.

_Then _I started laughing, not able to control my body as it tumbled along the grungy floor of the Stop and Shop. It was almost difficult to grasp how _stupid _the two of us must've looked—diving into the melons?—and therefore I couldn't withhold my hysteria. Eventually, Mark caught on as well, and he was laughing too.

And we stayed like that for a while, before the two of us stood up and wiped ourselves off. Then, we proceeded to the register, our melons and pears and whatnot in our hands, skipping merrily while handcuffed together.

The bag girl and cashier stared at us for a _looooooong _time before deciding to talk to us. "Um... yeah," said the cashier, whose nametag read "Phillip." He seemed very rude, and I immediately dubbed myself as an anti-Phillip person. "We're gonna have to..."

The bag girl, "Alex" as her nametag read, had a pierced lip, eyebrow, nose, and about six in her ears, and her hair was bleach blond with fiery red tips. "Yah, we're gonna have to ask you to leave and, like, never come back," she snapped her gum noisily and tangled a finger in her hair. "Like, never. Go to different Stop and Shops and stuff."

Mark dropped his jaw. I giggled.

"The manager has cameras everywhere," Phillip continued, and Alex tried to smother her snickers.

"We saw you try to, like, seduce our melons," Alex sniggered, "and we don't really like it when people, like, seduce our melons. So... like, yeah."

Then, to my _complete _surprise, Mark _spat _(spit! He spat on her! It was nasty!) at Alex and muttered, "Bitch." Then, he grabbed the bag—did he even fuckin' _pay?_—and we were out of there really fast, running down the street with melons and fruit and whatever else in our hands. When we were looking back to see if Alex was following us, we accidentally ran into someone.

Joanne.

"Oh, hi, Mark, Ro—"

"Gotta go, bye!" We zoomed past her, me burying my handcuffed hand into the bag. We straggled as far as we could before I removed my hand, cursing the handcuff as it glimmered in the sunlight. "That was really, really, really, really, _really, really, really_—"

"I know, Roger."

"_REALLY, _really, really, really, _really _close," I finished, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Then I noticed the large amounts of mushed melon on my side and scoffed in disgust. "Oh, man, I need to take a shower."

Then our eyes widened.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Mark cried, stopping dead in his tracks. About eight people walked into him. "NOOOOOO!" he repeated.

"SUCK IT UP!" I growled, and then I dragged him forward with me. Together we fled to the loft, each of us dreading the fate that had clearly come upon us. We were going to have to shower, and that was it.

We made it to our home and walked through the door, me headed toward the shower—ugh, rotted melon!—and Mark headed toward the bedroom. "Dude, chill, okay? I'll just leave my pants on, but I'm gonna take my shirt off, and then I'll change into some clean clothes—no big whoop."

We made it into the bathroom and I attempted to take off my shirt... when I realized that it was physically impossible for me to remove my shirt, unless I could find some way to pull Mark's body through the _sleeve _of a tee shirt. "How the hell did Collins dress us before we went on that date?" I asked aloud, pissed that this clothing wasn't cooperating.

"That's weird—the only way to get us dressed would be to take the handcuffs off," Mark noted.

It dawned upon us then.

"COLLINS!" we both shouted, exiting the bathroom and literally running around the loft crazily. "COLLINS! COLLINS, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Until we finally ran into him and started telling our story at the same time.

"Take a shower—"

"—tried to get changed—"

"—how'd you dress us last time?—"

"—crazy lunatic—"

"—no fair—!"

"—fucking asshole—"

"—how'd you get them off, huh?!—"

"—crazy lunatic—"

"—TELL US NOW—"

"—psycho freak—"

"—OR FOREVER HOLD YOUR—"

"—so _mean_—!"

"—FUCKING PEACE WHEN I—"

"—crazy lunatic!"

"—KILL YOU!"

My top finally blew and I bellowed the last phrase, making Collins withhold a giggle. "Woah, guys, chill out. I'll tell you everything, okay? Roger, no need to kill me, and Mark, you said _crazy lunatic _at _least _three times during that whole thing—are you okay? Do you need some aspirin?"

"No," Mark exhaled, "I think I'll be—"

"Well you will when I'm done with you!" and he brought a freaking spoon down on the top of our heads, beating us a few times until our consciousness finally faded.

**I woke up **to someone shoving Crayons up my nose.

"What the hell?" I swatted Collins' hand away and he chuckled nervously, pulling the Crayons out from my nasal cavity.

"Oh, good morning, guys. Um, yeah, I gave you guys a shower and then I dressed you—" and he seemed to want to add more, but I looked at Mark, and then my dressed and cleaned self and then back at Collins. He had _what? _He'd _bathed _us? That was sketchy. Even for my best friend, honestly... he was _gay _and he'd _given us a shower _and then _dressed _us.

"YOU WHAT?"

"Hey, Roger, chill," he put his hands up in a 'Whoa Nelly' gesture and shook his head. "It's not like that, man. You guys were out after I—um..."

"Beat us mercilessly with an eating utencil."

"Yeah, that." He swallowed. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before."

Mark chose this moment to sit up. "_Wait, what?_" he asked, basically shouted in my face. "What the _fuck? _When have you seen Roger _naked?_" he questioned, rubbing sleep (or, you know, unconsciousness) out of his eyes. Then he put his glasses back on his face and studied Collins.

"When _haven't _I seen Roger naked?"

"_Please _stop it with the indirect sexual comments," Mark moaned.

"Yeah!" I added, and then looked at Thomas carefully. "Name one time—"

"'Oh, hey, how about we run naked through the sprinklers of that guy's house over there!'"

"That was only—"

"'Let's play Yahtzee _naked!_'"

"Yeah, but—"

"'Let's play _Trouble _naked!'"

"Okay, fine, I—"

"'Let's play _Charades _naked—!'"

"Okay, fine, I _get _it! Jesus!"

There were a couple seconds of silence, me trying to tone down the embarrassment of the last few moments of my life. Okay, fine, Collins had dressed me and seen me—... _au naturel_, but remembering those early days of our lives when everything I'd done _had _to be in the nude... damn, I was a rebel kid back in the day, wasn't I?

Then Mark was squirming. "But what about—"

There was a laugh emitted from Collins. "Mark, you do some crazy shit when you're drunk."

**A/N:** This chapter SUCKED, I admit, I'm really sorry about that.

OMG, guys, I saw Hairspray! The day it came out, too, and then I saw it last night again. :) I _**LOVED**_ it. LOOOOVED it. I still think I hate Zac Efron's voice (ever since HSM I've been cursed into thinking he sucks) but he's still really hot, and maybe I don't hate him as much (but I still hate HSM with a burning fiery passion.)

I have a proposition for you: if ANYONE can tell me the significance of "Dies irae dies illa, Kyrie eleison Yitgadal V'Yitkadash", tell me what it means, I will make you into an OC :) Just tell me your name and I'll factor you in.

So, this is probably the last update on this story until I get back from camping (August 5th) and then I'm going to NY to see RENT –squee– on the 9th, so who knows.

I've been thinking of doing a RENT FanFic awards, who'd like to collaborate with me and help make that happen:) First come first serve.

REVIEW!

–Steph.


	15. The Zoo Pt 1

1**A/N: **Thank you to the lords of **DragonriderNessa **:)

And the lords of that new fic by **missxflawless**, or the one she found, rather, for it inspired me to inject the word "squee" into the story.

AND the lords of **S.P.** who suggested Mark and/or Roger's family came over.

15. The Zoo Pt. 1

"THE ZOOOOO!"

After much speaking with Collins, he finally convinced us (ahem... with his _fist_) that he wasn't going to tell us just how he'd gotten us dressed while we were handcuffed (which we still _were_, by the by), we'd given up on that idea altogether and returned to our recurring roles as couch potatoes. Collins made his fruit fiasco platter thing, and we ate it.

And now I wanted to go to the zoo.

"THE ZOOOO!" I squealed, jumping up and knocking over my fruit plethora thing.

"What about it?" Roger asked, busily stabbing a hunka hunka tasty cantaloupe and then shoving it into his mouth, chewing rather loudly. "Wha' 'bout da 'oo?" his words were smothered by the cantaloupe he was currently tonguing... I giggled at the thought.

"Come on, please, can we go to the zoo? _Please?_"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "Why the zoo? It's so... _blah_. It's a depressing place. They lock up animals from the wild so they can be put on display..." he trailed off and then stared at his fruit angrily, a tear trailing down his cheek. "So cruel!" he shouted. "Why, why lord of us? Why must you do this to the wildlife you created?"

"Come _on_, Roger." I realized that I'd been saying that phrase a lot lately. "It obviously means a lot to me—I even squeed!"

"Yeah, well, Kenny the fish was important to you but we fried him on the—_wait, you what?_" his voice went into a squeak for the last phrase. "Dude, did you just say fucking _squee? _Oh, man, okay, no doubt about it—you're gay, man. I don't even know what that _means_, but just the sound of the—"

"Squee," I said, sitting down next to him. "There was once a small girl."

"A small girl? Well, yeah, now I _know _you're gay—"

"And she was very happy about this pony she'd just received."

"A _pony?_"

"And she said, 'Oh, pony, I love you, you make me sq—eeeEEEEE!'" Roger shut his mouth after I'd done this, starting to get into the story apparently. "She was about to say 'squeal' but she saw a mouse and became very scared. The pony spoke to her, and so there was squeeing." Standing up, I bowed. "Thank you."

With one eye twitching and looking scarred, Roger picked up a pillow and threw it at my head. "You're a queer," he coughed, and then flung a piece of pineapple on a spoon at me. No, wait—it was a spork! A spork! He flung a piece of pineapple on a _spork _at me! I love sporks. So amazing... and froons! Froons were just as good, only they were _spoons _on the end and then they had the little prong things in the middle.

Skillfully, I caught the pineapple in between my teeth and then shot it back at him. "EAT IT," I demanded forcefully, and he did so, which was kind of nasty, I thought. But maybe that's just me... who knows?

There was a ringing noise and I decided it was the phone (I decided. Yes), and as always I waited for the machine to pick up. "Is it working? Is it—hi, Mark, its mom," said the answering machine, and I picked up the pillow Roger'd thrown and placed it over my head, trying to drone out her damn voice. "Just so you know, we're on our new tellular—what? It's a _cellular _phone?—I mean, our new cellular phone, and we're just telling you that we'll probably be at your house in about four hours."

"_WHAT?_" I roared, jumping up and dragging Roger with me over to the phone. Angrily, I picked up the phone and shouted into it. "YOU GUYS ARE _WHAT?_"

"We're on our way to New York Shitty!" she cried.

"What the hell, Ma! You could give me some freaking notice—you know, maybe a couple fucking _days—_"

"Hey," she scolded, "donut use that tone with me, okay? Are you hanging out with that Roger freak-a-leek?"

_Oh, yeah, you could say we're conjoined. _"Ma, don't try to sound hip—and _yes_, Roger is my best friend, of course I'm hanging out with him a lot."

Suddenly, Collins went _flying _through the room, and shouted, "NoCollinsismybestfriend!" very drunkenly and then staggered through the front door, not even bothering to close it behind him. But then he came back in, grinning like a freak, and closed the door, sitting on the couch next to us.

"Well, oh well, we'll be there soon enough."

"Wait—Ma—"

"Okay, honey—"

"NO—!"

"SEE YOU THEN—"

"Ma, wait, no—you can't—"

"GOODBYE, MARK." She said in a manlike voice, and then the phone was hung up and I was howling at no one, almost crying out of frustration and angry and freaking pissedoffness. "Agh, I should murder her in a dark alley behind the loft, dispose of her body, and then light her corpse on fire and dance in the flames of my burning, rotting, whoring mo—"

I felt Collins and Roger staring holes into my back and I turned, addressing their faces. "I mean, I love my mom, she makes me squee when I hear her very voice!" and I pranced over to sit down next to Collins, dragging Roger with me. The two men simply stared at me.

"Okay, I don't know what's wrong with me, BUT I REALLY WANT TO GO TO THE ZOO!" I whined, bouncing up and down. Slapping his forehead, Roger looked away, clearly angry with me. Collins stood up.

"Well, I know one thing. I'm cleaning this loft, and _you _two need to leave the house, because you'd somehow manage to screw it up. So, yeah. You guys are going to the zoo, all expenses paid from your Unky Collins!" he shoved a fifty in our third hand and then shoved us out of the loft, locking the door behind us.

**Ahh, the zoo. **It's wonderful. Really.

We got there and immediately found a bench, for we'd walked quite a while to get to the damned zoo. Then, when we got there, we didn't have enough money, so we had to strip tease until we could get enough cash to get in. Needless to say, I didn't get much money... the pigeons next to us were necking and people were feeding them hundreds.

After we sat down on the bench, I challenged Roger to a game of Random. This was a game we'd created back in our kiddie days, one we still play today. It's a challenge of the most random things ever, and if you can find something that relates, they're disqualified for the round. It's a great game, actually.

"French Alaskan Jews screaming hymns in reverse at your great-grandpa's wedding," I started off, getting the lead because of the length of it. Roger didn't even stop, however—his had clearly been pre-prepared, which was worth points as well.

"Pickled onions," he fired.

"That kid's eating pickles over there," I pointed. "Disqualification."

"Interference," he challenged my call, "that kid was obscuring my sight to the pickles, therefore the jab remains."

Damn.

"Pilot canary geese!"

"Eleven pipers piping."

"Cotton swab fencing, liquid chickens doing the Electric Slide, and your mom doing the Mexican Hat Dance while giving Collins a blowjob."

Roger's much more creative than I.

"Egyptian miners playing poker!" Ooh, this one was going to be hard to r—

"Old... grandma... donkeys," Roger wiggled his eyebrows for affect.

"Disqualified—there are donkeys at the zoo." There was a braying sound. "Dude, you totally just offended the zebras!" I scolded.

"Those were the donkeys, you idiot, donkeys bray."

"Nuh-uh, those were the zebras!"

"Donkeys!"

"Zebras!"

"Donkeys!"

"Zebras!"

"Donkeys!"

"Zebras!"

"MY LITTLE PONY!" Some random kid (his nametag said Wade on it) walking by shouted at the top of his lungs, and then he threw his ice cream cone at Roger. He managed to miss Roger and I but the ice cream went soaring into the monkey cage, which a woman wearing green—no, wait, with green _skin_—was staring at intently. Then, she threw a small rock at one of them.

"Fly, dammit!"

She was telling the monkey to fly. Like flying monkeys could be possible in her crazy green-skinned alternate universe. "That's so wicked," I shook my head—animal abuse. No-no.

"Mm," Roger agreed, and then he narrowed his eyebrows. "Dude, they were totally donkeys. Okay, remember when I was in chorus back in jr. high?" he asked, and I nodded—man, those were the days to taunt Roger Davis. "Yeah, well we had to do this warm-up, and it was like, 'I am a zebra! WEEEEEEEEE-_SNAAW,_" he sang, and then, very excited, added, "and then on the key change, we'd say, _kick-kick_, because, you know, zebras kick."

"Shut up!" the green person shouted.

"Go sing a song about your stupid flying monkeys!" I shot back.

"Nobody understands me!" she sobbed, and then ran away from the monkey enclosure, her hand over her face.

Odd.

We chilled out on the bench for a little while longer, and eventually Roger fell asleep next to me. Then, this very pretty girl sat next to me and started staring at me. "Hi," she greeted.

"Hi," I returned, and I smiled.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"My name is..." _Shit, Mark, what's your name, what's your name? _"...Frances?" _No, idiot, that's your _middle _name! _"Shit, no, it's not," I shook my head and slapped my forehead, and since I did both at the same time, I _missed _slapping my forehead and ended up slapping Roger on the face.

The pretty girl giggled at my confusing and stupid tactics. "It's not?"

"No," I told her. "That's my... Hebrew name?" _AHHH! YOU ARE DIGGING YOURSELF A HOLE!_

"Okay," she giggled again and scooted closer to me in the bench. "Well, I'm Liz," she looked at me seductively. And then.

_SHE KISSED ME!_

**A/N:** I admit to stealing Mark's Hebrew name spiel from "Anger Management" :)

Thanks **ModernBohemianMuse **(Liz) and **SaranVD** (Sarah) who gave me COMPLETE answers (aha most of you didn't tell me the whole thing:) Thats okay, I still love you) Sarah, I will work you into the next chapter, I promise.

So. High School Musical. You either love it or you hate it.

I know I ranted about this in a previous chapter, but I just saw the music vid thing on Disney for "I Don't Dance" and I have to say that I think this one will be an actual MUSICAL, no? Maybe not, but I really liked that song because they were SINGING in place of talking, you know? So I'll probably like the music in the sequel, but still not the storyline.

The warm-up "I am a zebra" is something that I made up after mocking my chorus teacher lady. It's usually "one three five eight, seven eight nine eight seven six five four three two one" in the progression of that starting from middle c.

ANDDDD. The kid with the name tag that said Wade (or should I say Durnt. XD)? Stole that from the Strangerhood. :)

Wicked reference XD Don't think of it as Wicked—just think of it as coincidence, because Wicked didn't come out yet. (A New Musical. Emphasis on the new.)

Thanks for reading!

Oh, BTW, this is my last post before I go camping. If I don't get eaten by a bear, I'll update when I get back! See you guys next Sunday!

–Steph.


	16. The Zoo Pt 2

1**A/N:** Most amazing night of my life.

As I write this I'm at the Salisbury hotel in NYC, the morning after seeing RENT live. It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. The moment Adam came on that screen, I squeed and screamed more than I ever had before in my entire life. He was there. In the same room as I. And he was amazing.

And so was Anthony, but my cousin has claimed rights to him, however, he added some hysterical touches—(Muttering "Uh-oh" out of the side of his mouth, high-pitched when Joanne's on the phone with Maureen in the Tango) and it made the show that much more wonderful.

Adam did too, however. Mimi did some sort of dance move while saying, "With my father," and Roger mocked it while he said, "I'm Roger." Alltogether, I'm not sure if I can watch the movie ever again/see the show on Broadway without Adam or Anthony being in the cast, simply because this was amazing on every level of being so.

It made me cry. Not so much the saddened half of the second act, but the whole beginning into Glory (SQUEE! GLORY WAS AMAZING!)

So, in my next chapters, I'll describe more, but for now, I'll post this and get on with my life.

16. The Zoo Pt. 2

My body took on an orgasmic effect of sorts and I literally fell off the park bench, rolling around and passionately tonguing this girl I hardly even knew on a personal level. And, of course, since Roger and I were cuffed, he was with me, still snoring and sleeping and drooling. And just as I was about to rip this girl's shirt of, she shoved me away and stood up, clearly furious.

"Ew, you stupid freak!" she cried, jumping up and fixing her blouse, "I was just using you to g et your hot drooling friend! God, my name isn't even Liz!" she fled, holding her purse that had a single name on it.

Sarah.

"Yeah, well, Sarah-meanie, I can still stalk you!"

Not my best choice of words in a public place.

As the girl ran off, Roger woke up and looked at me. "Hey, um... why are we on the ground?"

I simply growled and stood up.

At that point, I discovered I was _starving_, so I pulled Roger to his own feet and started to walk toward the food stand, thoughts of a sexy hot dog on my mind. "C'mon, Rog, I'm starved," I told him, and we were soon at the back of a very very long line. Of course. _Everyone's _hungry at the zoo.

While I was deciding whether to get a Funky Monkey Frappe or a Bucking Bronco Burger, Roger looked over at this short old woman who had a dog. The kind of dog was a mystery, and the two of us sat there, just staring, for a long time. Finally, Roger mustered up some confidence and he looked at her.

"What kind of dog is that?" he asked.

"She's a foxoodle," the sweet old woman answered, smiling. The dog was small and black, but it had hair instead of fur. She wasn't cut like a poodle, but I guess I could see it. "This is Jamie."

"A foxoodle?" I asked, trying to withhold my laughter.

"A fox terrier and a poodle," she revealed proudly. The dog's red leash stretched and she came over to inspect us, growling angrily at Roger but seeming to like me. "An interesting mix, I know, but I think she's very cute. We just recently decided what to call her, but foxoodle seems to fit, no?" she chuckled a bit, and Roger and I looked at each other nervously.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Of course," Roger nodded.

"Okay, well, Jamie's gotta get home, buy guys!"

We waved goodbye and then stood back in line, both deciding that the meeting had been interesting. Then, I got bored, and decided to write a song. "Fox—yeah! Oodle—yeah! Yeah—yeah!" I danced like I was from the disco era and punched my fist. "Jamie is one; haven't ya heard? She growls like a dog and she squeaks like a bird!"

The line stared at me like I was nuts, Roger looked like he didn't want to be near me. "Jamie is a poodle, but a fox-terrier too!" I jumped on top of a table near the line and started dancing again, now looking like a full out retard. "People think she's ugly but when they see her, she's cute!" Foot twist. "Jamie, Jamie, Jamie, she's a stinky little mutt! From her floppy ears all the way down to her butt!"

What can I say? I'm a genius.

We reached the front of the line and I refused to order, because back in the day, every time I ordered I'd ask for a "small cheeseburger and a plain soda." Or something dyslexic like that.

"We'll have a—"

"Hey, Roger," I whispered, cutting off his order.

"Yeah?"

"Ask them if they have sporks or froons."

Raising an eyebrow, Roger obliged. "Do you guys have..." he nudged his head toward me, "sporks or froons?"

The clerk shook his head.

"_What?_" I asked angrily, walking forward and jamming my fist on the counter. "You don't have _sporks?_" My voice raised higher and higher with each word I spoke, and the stunned guy just kind of shook his head like what the fuck is this albino freak doing, and why won't he shut his mouth about the sporks and froons?

"Mark—"

"NO!" I shouted, slapping Roger in the face and jumping up on the counter of the food stand. "Do you understand what this is, people? They don't support interutencil breeding! Half spoon, half fork? No, they won't have it!" I looked out at the people in the line, hoping to touch them in their hearts. "Do you understand what this is doing to our society?_ Do you understand?_"

Silence. One of the kids in the front of the line made a cricket sound, and I threw a ketchup packet at him.

"Is that for here or to go?" I vaguely heard below me.

"To go." Looking down, I saw Roger looking _up _at me. "Definitely to go."

He finally got me off of the counter and I grabbed my own tray of food, putting my head down as I exited the restaurant. The Great Spork Movement, as I like to call it, had been a bust, and now I was a pathetic excuse for a protester and Martin Luther King type. My pride had been smushed.

"So, Rog," I said after we'd sat down with our food. "Why is your hair blonde?"

Roger stared at me like I was crazy, but _then _he caught onto the game I wanted to play. "Because I dyed it that way."

"_No_," I insisted. "Because African pelicans are conquering China and the Seafood Shack is haunted with mice."

This was a game of ours we'd invented called Because. One person asks a stupid question, and then they come up with this crazy answer that is completely random. Yeah, we're basically the random crew at its most heightened postures.

The food was good, but then we decided that we'd spent long enough at the zoo. We were about to leave, but then something very offensive happened.

Monkeys were flinging ice cream at us.

It was everywhere! Roger took a shot to the head, and I got covered with it—making me wish I had windshield wipers on my glasses.

"CHOCOLATE CHIP TO THE EYE!" Roger shouted feverishly next to me, "I GOT A CHOCOLATE CHIP IN MY EYYYYYYYYYYYYE!"

Then the odd green woman was back, throwing rocks at them again. "FLY, MY DARLINGS, FLY!"

Good times at the zoo.

**A/N: **So.

The foxoodle song! Ahaha... well, my sister, who's twenty-six, wrote that about my dog Jamie. She's a fox terrier-poodle, and you might think it'd be ugly, but she's quite adorable. She looks more like a poodle, but you can see the terrier in her.

Well, the actual song itself ends at "growls like a dog and she squeaks like a bird." I added the rest.

And the "small cheeseburger / plain soda" I actually did that once, and the clerk guy was WTFing. And I told my ma that she went "farward too for." I'm dyslexic XD

This is a little shorter, simply because I needed to get them out of the zoo.

REVIEW!

Your very... odd-feeling, ecstatic, lovely friend,

–Steph.


	17. You Lou Who

1**A/N:** SOOOO!

Yeah, I kinda disappeared for a short time there without mention, heh, sorry. I went to New Hampshire with me cousin, and we've recently conceived an idea for a story.

Camp Wannabangaweasel (long story about the title... heh) the Bohos all go camping. I'll be writing through Roger's POV, Sara will be Mark's. :)

I'm going to be summing this story up soon, and **I DELETED **_**JOKER**_ The story wasn't working out... sorry, guys.

This will probably twenty chapters long, or maybe only eighteen or nineteen. And then I'll get my ass on the update train for TLB, and then I'm thinking of starting another story called _Chicken Soup._ :)

Yes, I have started reading Harry Potter, and yes, I did mock Harry Potter's You-Know-Who in this chapter. Once again, future forseeing—Harry Potter was not created yet.

17. You-Lou-Who

The walk back from the zoo was boring, and by the time we got back to the loft, Collins had cleaned it thoroughly. I literally almost choked on the smell of cleaning supplies that made their way down my throat. Then, to follow this up, I tripped over a container of bleach and did a face-plant on the hardwood.

"DON'T SMUSH YOUR FACE ON THE FLOOR, I JUST FINISHED WAXING IT!" Collins shouted, and heaved me to my feet. I resisted the urge to spit out my wax-tasting saliva, simply because I figured Collins would wring my neck before Mark's family arrived. "You guys need to change," he noted.

At this time I discovered that we were covered in ice cream. "Right, but we _can't_," Mark reminded him. "Remember? You—"

CLUNK.

Collins had whacked Mark off the top of the head with a frying pan, and then instantly, he turned to me and—

CLUNK.

**When I woke up**, I was dressed in a fancy-shmancy button-down shirt, one that somewhat resembled what I'd worn to Mimi's parents house. That fact alone scared me shitless, but I looked over at Mark, who was wearing another sweater vest that looked just like his original. This made me wonder if I had more than one.

Suddenly, cold water was dumped on my head and I screamed, leaping up. "Dude, quick, get up—You-Lou-Who is gonna be here soon."

You-Lou-Who is what Collins and I call Cindy, Mark's younger sister. Yes, Cindy is in fact younger than him—she just decided to have kids a lot earlier than he did. Her boyfriend at the time, Kip, got her pregnant with twins at the age of nineteen, therefore Mark's nieces were born. Her boyfriend left her after that.

And somehow, her parents were still more proud of her than Mark.

Now the target was Mark—some of the water even managed to splash over on me. "Mark, wake up, You-L—I mean, your sister is coming soon, you need to get up—" he gave up on the ice water and decided to slap him... I decided just to help. Anything that involves Mark in pain entertains me to know end, I'll admit.

"What about his parents?" I asked, smacking Mark hard across the face. "I thought they were coming?"

"Nope, 'something came up,'" he used air quotes, "and they're sending Lou-Who over just to check up on dear old Marky. Probably just to make sure that some chick hasn't put him in his place, or to make sure you haven't murdered him yet, O One Who Gets So Violent. His folks were real worried about his safety when you went through withdrawal."

"Yeah—well—well, that was harsh and mean."

"Sorry—"

"Maybe they should worry about you banging him!"

"I'm gonna shoot you in a second."

_Knock. Knock._

My heart thumped in my chest. "Quick, let's just get him up on a table, or something," I suggested, and together the two of us heaved Cohen onto a chair, his head forward on his elbows. "He's asleep," I told Collins, and my friend ran over to the door and slid it open. Seeing Cindy made me smile, but then I noticed the two things with her.

Children.

Okay, okay, that sounds morbid, but kids... I was hoping she wouldn't bring her kids. But, there they were, Lily and Allie, Mark's little nieces. Collins and Cindy exchanged a hug, both remarking on how different they looked—"Collins, look at you, you got so tall!" and, "Cindy, look at you, you've grown up so much!"—and then Cindy laid eyes on me.

"Oh, look who it is, Troublemaker Davis," she rolled her eyes, but then she grinned and walked over to hug me. "How have you been, Roger?" she asked, burying her head into my shoulder. It was kind of uncomfortable—Mark's at-one-time kid sister kind of nuzzling into my neck.

Then the door opened at the worst possible time, and there was Mimi. She saw my confused face and this woman hugging me, and probably jumped to conclusions. She cleared her throat loudly and said, "Well, hello, Roger, who's _this?_" in that loving way of hers when she's angry. Cindy whipped around.

"Oh, you must be—" I saw her struggle for a name. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mark's told me so much about you, your name just slipped my mind. But you're Roger's girlfriend, aren't you? I'm Cindy, Mark's little sister," she reached out to shake hands with Mimi, who was now not looking as deadly.

See, there's a reason we hate Cindy You-Lou-Who. First of all, she was a little prick when we were younger, always ratting us out. But then... there was around this time... where she came over, and she acted like she owned the loft. She'd try to clean it and throw our shit out, and she'd just annoy the flying flick out of us.

Near the table, Collins was being tackled by the twins, who were pulling at his beanie and giggling. Collins, who is amazingly good with kids, was laughing along with them and tickling them and being awesome. Me, still chained to the "sleeping" freak, couldn't move, so I just sipped some probably day-old coffee out of a cup, trying not to choke.

"So," Cindy began, once again going to clean our kitchen. She busted out the age-old sponges and wiped a fairly thick layer of grime off of the stove. "What's been up with you guys?" she asked, looking around.

"What ever happened to that other girl you were friends with back in Scarsdale?" she shifted topic instantly. "The one with the hair like fire?"

"The one with the—oh." I stopped my sentence immediately. "_Oh_."

The whole room seemed to have stopped, the only sound being Lily hitting her firetruck toy against the ground. Collins even stopped, allowing Allie to bop him off the head with a toy hammer as he looked at me for a response. Mark paid no heed—he let out a loud snore, apparently sleeping now.

"What?" Cindy asked.

"Forget it," Collins interfered.

"It's—nothing," Mimi waved it off.

"No," I shook my head. "April. Um, yeah. She's been gone for a while now," I said, trying to smile at Cindy. "She killed herself a while back."

Cindy gasped loudly and put a hand over her heart. "Oh, no! Really? Oh, that's too bad," she shook her head. "God, I'm sorry, Roger."

"It's okay. If it helps at all, I'm clean," I got off the April topic and hoped this would cheer Cindy up for crushing my own mood. She flashed a smile and congratulated me, saying she knew how hard it was, one of her closest friends was on drugs, yada yada yada, whatever, all that Cindy shit no one cares about.

Finally, Mark woke up, muttering something about ice and being slapped, but when he saw Cindy, he almost passed out again. "Oh, hi, Sin," he greeted, waving and yawning. He gave her a one-armed hug. "Where are—"

"UNCLE MARKY!" shouted Lily and Allie, running toward him.

"Hi, girls," he hugged them too and then pulled back. "Go play with Collins, okay?"

We talked about almost nothing for a while, and it got really boring.

"Hey, I just noticed something," said Cindy. "Why have you two not left each other's side since I got here?"

"Um—"

"Magnets!" Mimi tried to be clever. "They swallowed magnets and now they're attached at the hip, heh, happened all the time last year, didn't think they were stupid enough to do it again—no!" she lunged out and tried to prevent Cindy from checking out our wrists. "No, Mark has this really contagious—"

She was cut off by Cindy's gasp. "You're _gay?_" she asked Mark, befuddled. "No way! I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Dad _so _totally owes me twenty bucks!" she smiled, but then realized me. "Wait—_you're _gay? _THAT_ was unpredictable. No way. No freaking way. That's—wow, that's wild."

Before we had a chance to explain, she checked the time and gasped again. "I should be getting home. Nice day, though. Bye!"

And then, just like that, she was gone. She'd spent a few hours at their house, and then left.

And she still thought that we were gay.

"You know," Collins said, grinning like an idiot. "Mark, I always liked your sister."

I studied Mark, and then I turned to Collins. "Run," I instructed.

**A/N: **I know this ended abruptly, I just suddenly really want this story to be over, I don't know why. XD Once again, this was **S.P.**'s idea—two more chapters, and then it's all over, folks!

REVIEW!

–Steph.


	18. Cohen Cranks

1**A/N:** One more chapter after this, guys! –gets teary eyed– I'm gonna miss you!

Oh, and BTW, if you haven't noticed—I've changed my penname again, which means you have to change any direct links to me once more. Sorry, thats the last of my changes!

18. Cohen Cranks

That night, we went to sleep soundly. To prevent anything funky and odd, we slept on different levels (a term Roger gave me a hard time for: "Different levels? What the hell? Freak!"), me being on top of the sheets and Roger beneath them. The beginning was a bit action-packed: I was forced to throw some broken clothes hangers at him, he threatened me with scarves... it was violent.

And the next morning, I woke early. Not because of the blinding sunlight, though—because of the odd feeling that there was someone in the house besides just me and Roger. For a while I sat up and listened, just listened, trying to hear someone creeping around the loft, trying to steal our shit.

At that moment, the door to the bedroom burst open, almost making me screech. Then I realized it was just smiling Mimi, and she said, "Oh, Mark, there you are!" and she smiled again. "Where's Roger?"

Somehow she'd forgotten the fact that we were attached and probably in the same room, unless we had managed something else. I was just about to tell her that, dur, he's right next to me, but then the man next to me catapulted himself into a sitting position at the speed of freaking Concorde, still three quarters of the way asleep. "Mmm... what? Oh, hey babe," he mumbled, blinking and rubbing sleep out of his left eye.

It took Mimi a second but then she sucked in the whole situation. Me plus Roger plus bed

equals SHIT!

With a red face, she walked up and slapped Roger on the face. "ROGER FUCKING DAVIS!"

I'm beginning to believe that's his middle name.

Oh, yeah, I mean—shit. This was bad.

"No, Mimi, wait, look—we slept on different levels!" I pulled back the cover to reveal me in my pajamas, but at some point during the night, Roger must've gotten hot and switched to above the sheets as well. Shit, so all I'd done was add fuel to her anger. And at this time, Mimi noticed the pieces of clothes hanger.

"WHAT THE FUCK? DID YOU GUYS GET IT SO FUCKING ON THAT YOU SPLIT THE FUCKING CLOTHES HANGER WITH THE FRICTION BETWEEN YOUR BODIES?" her bellowing voice made me wince, and Roger looked like he just wanted to die. I don't think he deserved to lose Mimi again.

"Mimi, Mimi, wait—we're handcuffed, remember? We need to sleep together."

That sentence itself sounded _so _wrong, but we managed. She exhaled and nodded, relieved. "Oh, yeah, sorry—I just—yeah. After Cindy yesterday, I kind of freaked. But it's okay. Phew." She quite literally rested on the doorframe, as if she were physically relieved that we weren't going behind her back.

Um.

So we got out of bed (it's kind of difficult to do when you're attached, long story short, a lot of rolling, and pillows) and stumbled into the kitchen and sat down at the table, me pouring some Cap'n Crunch, and Roger waiting for Mimi to serve him something. Sighing at his childlike tactics, she made him a bowl of oatmeal.

He looked at the food like it was going to give him hives or something, and of course, knowing Roger, this was not an unlikely possibility. However, he picked up his spoon, got a spoonful of oatmeal, sniffed it, and then slowly went to take a bite.

"Do you think I'm trying to blow you up?" Mimi asked, looking up from the newspaper, sending a sideways glance at Roger. "I'm not trying to poison you, Roger."

For some reason, this struck me as ridiculously funny, and I almost spit out my cereal across the room, instead some milk came out my nose. Roger looked creeped out and tried to scoot away, but it amazes me that he's yet to understand that we're _attached_.

The phone rang.

"Let the machine pick up," Roger instructed.

"I know that, you doof," Mimi said in a 'duh' voice. "I'm up here all the time."

"But no one calls," I pointed out.

"Oh, screw you," she muttered.

_SPEEEEAAAAAK._

"OH MAAAAAARKY DEAR!" My mom. Instantly Roger burst into laughter, full knowing what was coming. You see, Dear Ol' Ma tends to leave... musical voice mails. Always musical. She _sings _them. He thinks it's hilarious... and apparently, he was more excited, because this was Mimi's first one witnessed. Fantastic. "This is your mother! Cindy told us about the visit, and I am very pleased. Oh, and darling—"

Then she started crying, which alarmed me a bit. "MY LITTLE BOOOOOOY CAME OUT OF THE CLOOOOOSET! OH DEAR I AM JUST SO PROUD OF MY SONNNNN! ISN'T IT LOVELY THAT HE'S COMING OUT OF THE CLOOOOSET? OH, MY LITTLE GAY JEW

BOY, I AM SO DEARLY PROUD..." she blew her nose. "YOUR FATHER WANTS TO HANG YOU, BUT I JUST WANT TO HUG YOU, FOR MY MARKY DEAR IS SUCH A BIG BOOOOOY!"

At this time, Mimi was crying from laughing so hard, and I was trying desperately to go pick up the phone, but Roger kept me close to him however weakly due to laughter. Ma continued. "WE ARE SO SORRY WE COULD NOT COOOOOME, MARKY DEAR, BUT I WISH TO SEE YOU AND YOUR BLATANTLY GAY SELF! WE'LL CHECK IT OUT SOMETIME, JUST YOUR FATHER AND I, AND I WON'T LET HIM KILL YOU!"

There was a long silence, and then, finally: "Love, MO-OM!"

I think a part of Roger died that day, simply because no human is supposed to laugh that hard, and I think I could've died of embarrassment, my face was roughly the color of a fully ripened tomato, and I think I could've killed myself right then and there.

Then, Collins stumbled into the room, slipping like he always does on his oversized socks. He pointed to them grandly. "I GOT NEW SOCKS, AREN'T THEY SWEEEET—?"

"Dude, you missed the latest Cohen Crank!" Roger exclaimed, and then he cleared his throat and covered, "I mean—the phone rang!"

_What _did he just call the phone call? "_What _did you call that?" I challenged, looking Roger in the eye, and then switching to Collins, who was still giddy about the whole sock situation he had going on. When neither of them answered, I pounded my fist on the counter. "I _DEMAND _you to—"

"Oh, shit," laughed Collins, "be careful, man, he _demanded _you."

"—to tell me what—"

"—look out, Rog!"

"—you called my mother!"

"A Cohen Crank," Roger supplied, and then he walked over to the cabinets, me dragging along. Apparently, he thought this conversation was over. As far as _I _was concerned, however, it wasn't, but I don't think he listened as I lectured him about the amazingness of my mom. I get very defensive of her.

"MY MOTHER IS A BRILLIANT WOMAN! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW! YOU DON'T EVEN _KNOW!_" I shouted, pulling his hair like I was six.

He ignored me. And then, "OH MY GOD!" he squealed (squealed! He literally squealed!), pulling out a bag of chips from a cabinet. "LOOK, FRITOS!" he hungrily tore the bag open and started shoveling the sacred food into his mouth. "FRIIIIIITOS!"

Still amazed that Roger actually _squealed_, I didn't exactly catch on to his excitement. And then, when Collins exclaimed "AND HI-C!" from the refrigerator, we both almost died of laughter, falling to the ground.

"What's so funny?" Mimi asked, raising an eyebrow at our tactics.

Between shouts of laughter, Roger shouted, "EVIL PARTY!" and once again we were cracking up.

We once had an evil party when we were thirteen, and it consisted of a lot of Fritos and a lot of spiked Hi-C. We didn't have the strength to recount the tale to Mimi, so after we laughed, we stood up and ate Fritos and drank Hi-C like civilized men.

Pfft. Hardly.

Roger started flinging Fritos at us and then one thing led to another—we were covered in Hi-C and Fritos.

And then Mimi and Collins took action.

Like lightning, she and Collins had Roger and I strapped into chairs. As in _bound _to the chairs. With rope and shoelaces and other means of attachment. It's like they had it planned the whole time, and Roger and I had been out of the loop, not knowing that this stunt was going to be pulled.

At one point, Roger rocked the chair so hard in an attempt to get up, he ended up knocking his own chair over, prompting me to fall on top of it and bash my chin against the side of his chair, which was sideways on the ground. Great. So now I had this huge purple bruise on the side of my face, and Collins and Mimi were tying us down.

Then Maureen burst in the door, eyeing us and then rushing over to Collins and Mimi. "Sorry I'm late, guys."

Then I noticed what she was carrying.

A bag of make-up.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

**A/N:** ahahahah! I've been waiting to do this SO long!

So, I believe the next chapter is the last.

Thanks to **LostOzian**, who suggested the evil party. XD

I have one remark and one remark only on Collins' oversized socks: I stole that from Potter Puppet Pals. I just love that one comment so much... haha. Dumbledore and his socks XD

Another thing—can anyone tell me how to use a challenge on LJ? XD, I have no idea how to do it.

Hey, guys, could you pray for my friend Kellie? She's on here as Kellie Packers, she writes Maximum Ride FF but I made her watch RENT and she says she has a oneshot in mind. Her parents were just recently killed and she just gave me permission to make it public. If you're atheist, could you just keep her in your thoughts?

Once again, my theft from Dane Cook: "MY FATHER IS A BRILLIANT MAN! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW! YOU. DON'T. EVEN. _KNOW!_"

Haha, I had a bit of trouble with this chapter — I realized halfway through that I had switched from Mark's POV to Roger's... so I had to go through and re-write the whole second half DX


	19. Pancakes

1**A/N:** The last chapter!

–sobs– Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed and helped me with this story! You are all so amazing, and—and—and... just, thank you! (:

19. Pancakes

Mark and I screamed at the same time.

I didn't blame us.

But then, like the freaking hawk-women they were, Mimi and Maureen swooped in with their hands full of make-up, preparing to make us look like Ms. Cohen and Madam Davis. Well, I'm sure Mark didn't object—maybe it would make him feel pretty and witty and gay, and so pretty that he pities any Mark who isn't him today.

But that's just me.

For some reason, Maureen took over me, simply because I'd probably be more difficult. "And when someone needs a make-over, I simply have to take over; I know—_I _know exactly what they need. And even in your case... though it's the toughest case I've yet to face; don't worry I'm determined to succeed, follow my lead, and yes indeed. You will be: pop—"

Then, as if Mimi had _just _realized what Mo was doing, she put her hand up and narrowed her eyes at Maureen. "Not now, Mo."

Maureen seemed to get grumpity but obliged, ceasing the song and deciding to whip out a pair of scissors, which I immediately knocked away with my nose onto the floor. "_No_," I said very sternly, shaking my head at her like I was scolding a dog. "Not the hair, Mo. You can fuck the rest of me up all you want, but not the hair."

She grinned. "Okay!" And Maureen is known to take something like that and run a mile with it.

Nervously I glanced sideways at Mark, who was now covered in blush and some sort of powdery white stuff. Now he looked even more like an albino freak, which made me grin... but then Maureen attacked me with the same stuff, making me sneeze like a fiend and almost fall over in the chair.

"Aww, Roger, stop—I'm trying to do your eyeliner!"

My eyes snapped open and then I narrowed them. "Hey, hey, hey—I can do my own eyeliner. I had a lot of experience with _that_, thank you very much."

Maureen nodded, grinning. "Oh, I know."

"I think we all do," Mark added.

Collins laughed. "I agree."

Mimi stopped working on Mark. "Wait—Roger wore _eyeliner?_" she asked incredulously.

Sort of frightened as to how she would respond, I nodded. She smiled and said, "I am so hot for you right now."

"Ugh, please don't go there!" pleaded Mark.

Of course Mark would cringe at any mention of sexual activity. Things like that frighten him, the poor little girlfriendless boy he is. I shake my head at him in despair, I do. But, anyway—the whole make-up thing was driving me barking mad, so I started driving Maureen crazy by blowing in her face and spitting at her.

"Whatever, Roger," she sighed, and then scooted my chair toward a mirror.

"What the hell am I supposed to fricking look like?!" I exclaimed, quite frightened of the face staring at me—my face was covered in powdery shit that made me look as pale as Mark, and when Mark was put next to me, his skin tone matched what mine previously was. "Why did Mark turn out hotter than me?!" I demanded.

Silence proceeded this.

"You think I'm... hot?" Mark questioned, almost a little too hopefully.

"Of course the fuck not!" I covered. "It's just—"

"Roger, don't be upset, he just makes a prettier girl than you."

Hmph.

It's simple to say that Mark and I spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing all of the shit off of our faces, and I could see that Mark was very sad that his "prettiness" was disappearing. "Mark?" I asked gently, hoping he wouldn't cry or something, "How do you feel?"

"Ask me how do I feel, now that we're cosy and—"

"No," I interrupted, shaking my head. "Try again."

He looked up. "I... feel... pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and—"

"NO!" I cut him off, waving my hands flamboyantly, "No. Try once more."

"I feel fine," he grumbled, like a kid who'd just been scolded. "And you?"

"Fine."

After this, we both sat down on the couch, watching as the girls shuffled about and whispered, and Collins prepared some sort of interesting dessert.

Mark fell asleep.

My eyes trailed down on the handcuffs, the things that caused us so much trouble in the past few months.

There had to be a way to get them off. There had to be. THERE. HAD. TO. BE.

As I lay on the couch and studied them, Mark across from me very awkwardly, a part of the handcuffs that I had never seen before flickered in the sun. Confused, I tried to bring them closer to my face, but Mark being the stupidhead that he is made it impossible. This made me annoyed, so I fixed my sitting position.

Suddenly, Maureen came clambering in through my bedroom door, and I didn't want to please her by trying to be stupid with the cuffs. "HEY, ROGGY!"

"Shhh!" I scolded, pointing to the sleeping Mark next to me.

"Sorry," she whispered, and then sat down at the table. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Go back into my bedroom."

To my surprise, she grabbed a water bottle and left.

Once again I looked at the handcuffs and that small part that had glimmered in the sun. For a second, I studied it—_what the hell was it? _A small... tab? A tab?

Then it hit me.

Fuck.

Oh, my fucking God.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I shouted, half out of anger and half out of glee, and at that moment, Mark woke, falling to the floor like a fish. He flopped around, and then I came crashing on top of him, the coffee table almost falling over on top of us. He was squirming and we both fought over the use of the handcuffed hand.

"Roger, what are you doing—I'm trying to hold up this table so it doesn't hit us on the face—"

"Mark! Ablahblabhlabelabalalamblershpielmabik—"

"What the _fuck _are you doing?"

"No—abalabanabba—askleebePOP!—ofmankwoka—CLING ON!"

"Stop!"

Truth be told, I was trying to talk so fast, but my fury and excitement were blending into a jubilee of nonsense behind my vocal chords. "Mark," I gasped, trying to keep myself from punching him and then kissing him, once again, crazy emotions, "we're free! We're gonna be free! Oh, it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be all right!"

And then I was crying, tears of joy streaming down my cheeks. Mark looked at me like I was fucking nuts, I finally went crazy, the cuffs were going to my head, and he was the next victim.

It would be a reality show.

_Cuffed_.

But I digress.

My fingers struggled with the tab, and still so pissed, I fumbled.

"Oh, my God, Mark, shit, Mark—"

"_What?_"

"We're so fucking stupid! We are fucking retarded—"

"_WHY?_"

"Look!"

I motioned grandly to the fucking tab and then pulled it down, and just like that, the area around my wrist was exposed to air. A gentle breeze blew through the rash that had developed, and the red skin felt so cooled off that it made me feel awesome.

"YES!" I shouted, and punched the air, crying. "YES! YES YES YES! OH, MY FUCKING GOD, WE'RE FREE!"

"YES!" Mark started screeching like a child as well, and both of us were crying. My chest felt lit with pure joy, it was the best feeling I'd ever felt.

Then Maureen walked into the room. "Why are you guys so excited?"

"THERE WAS A TAB!" Mark explained, working his own tab on his side of the cuffs, and I tried to shut him up so they wouldn't laugh at us, "WE WERE SO STUPID AS TO HAVE NOT NOTICED! OH, MY GOD, WE'RE FREE, MO! WE ARE FREE!"

She started laughing.

A plan started to unfold in my mind. If Maureen wanted laughter, I hoped she'd be happy when I was the one laughing at_ her_. I grabbed a pair of pliers and walked over to where she was in fits of hysterical laughter, and where Mark was standing pathetically, the color of a ripe tomato. Grinning, I put my plan into action.

Like lightning, I grabbed Maureen's right hand and clipped on the handcuffs, and then I grabbed Mark's left and snapped them on. Quickly, subtly, I bent the tabs over, and figured that it'd be good for now. I'd just solder the tabs to the handcuffs later... and at this point, Mark was the only one who'd noticed.

"ROGER, YOU FUCKING BASTARDFACE!" he shouted, and then he jumped out at me, but he ended up dragging the still laughing Maureen along with him.

Freedom never felt so fucking glorious. I ran into the kitchen and blew right by Collins, who was still almost laughing as well. And you know what I did?

I walked down to the Life Café and had some pancakes with little M&M's in them.

**A/N: **MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

There will NEVER be a sequel to this story, sorry, dears. But, however, the next chapter will consist of a short taste of Maureen and Mark's situation.

I once again thank **Aw FUDGE-UMS **for the plot idea. :)

Oh, and BIIIIIIG thanky thanks to **LifeIsTooQuick**, the idea of this ending TOTALLY came from her, she gets all credit for the idea of the ending. I'd been struggling, and this idea was perfect XD

Look out for my next fic, _Chicken Soup_, about the year of '92–'93:)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS! I LOVE YOU ALL! I'm going to miss writing Mark and Roger being handcuffed...

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

–Steph.


	20. Finale

1**A/N:** Okay!

So, some question as to why Mark and Maureen got attached — simply because Mark seems like the kind of person that bad things happen to. Plus, Maureen and Collins and Maureen and Jo and Maureen and Mimi all seem to get along quite fine, and I didn't want to torture Roger again, so I attached Mark and Mo. With Mark's puppy love and Maureen's annoyance with him, I thought it'd be hilarious.

Thank you for all the reviews, you guys seriously rock my world! Any doubt I once had with this story has evaporated.

— —

Get me the fuck out of here.

I cast a glance over at Maureen, who was snoring noisily on the couch. That's what I'd done most of the time being attached—slept. Through the New Year, Maureen and I had been stuck together, all because of Roger. One night when we were asleep, he snuck in with a soldering gun (where the fuck did he get this? It's beyond me) and soldered the bent tab to the handcuffs themselves, rendering us impossible of separation.

Joanne had found out and threatened to kill Maureen—didn't talk to her for a while, but then they got back together and I had to sit there through the disgusting smacking noises their lips made and then they almost got it on right then and there but then I started clearing my throat really loudly and they separated.

I met this girl I really liked, who proceeded to run away when she discovered the cuffs and that the woman on the other end of them was bi. So that left Maureen and me together, doing nothing, before we proceeded to make out.

Roger had been eating breakfast at the table, reading his newspaper. Mimi came sauntering in, grinning. I already knew what she was going to ask him.

"Roger? Is that you?" she squinted at him.

"Yep," he pursed his lips.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs," she giggled, and then exited the room, hips swinging.

For some reason, I don't pick up on this, but if I would've if they had let me in on the inside joke fun.

Collins came in, grinning like he always did when he saw me. Yeah, the reason he'd knocked Roger and I out so many times was because he _knew _about the tab on the handcuffs and wanted us to remain attached. Loser. Faggot. Fuckhead. Dorkfuck. Blegh.

So, yeah, my life has been absolutely nothing but fun. Roger's been loving his freedom, swinging his arms in the air whenever he wants to, brushing his hair, changing his _clothing_—yeah, I can't even do _that _anymore. Maureen and I get in the shower together, wash off _through _our clothes, and then we get Roger, Collins and Joanne to stand around us with blow dryers as our clothes dry off.

Going to the bathroom is awkward, especially when it's... Maureen's _that time of the month_. My hands have to go down there... eeeew! I mean, like, touching a girls vigeegee? So totally not fun. Maybe with my weiner... but not with my hands! Eeeew.

Next to me, my cellmate emitted a loud snore and rolled over, ripping my arm out of its socket. "OW!" I screeched, grabbing my shoulder with my other—

Never mind.

This was odd. Why was my arm not moving?

Oh, no.

Closing my eyes, I turned my neck to look in the direction that my arm was. When I opened them up, there was my arm. And my wrist. But on this wrist, there was something.

Another pair of handcuffs.

"ROGER FUCKING DAVIS!"

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

**A/N:** Okay! Lame, I know, but whatever.

So, I came up with a plan. You guys can submit some questions you'd like to ask me, like, you know, where did I get inspiration, why I chose certain things, how I came up with certain things, etc etc etc. And I'll answer them in the next chapter!

–Steph.

PS: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME HIT 240 REVIEWS! Oh, my God, I never even dreamed of 100! This means so much to me, thank you! –gives every reviewer lifetime supply of cookies and Cheetos–


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